The 
Youn§ 


fiountamee 


Charles 


Craddock 


*»O   FOURTEENTH   8T 
OAKLAND,  c*A 


BOOKS   BY 

effort  Crafcfcodu 

(MARY  N.  MURFREE.) 


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HE    WAS    PALLID   AND    PANTING    (see  page  22  I ) 


THE  YOUNG  MOUNTAINEERS 

SHORT  STORIES 

BY 

CHARLES   EGBERT  CRADDOCK 


WITH   ILLUSTRATIONS   BY 
MALCOLM   ERASER 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN   AND  COMPANY 

Cbc  ntocrtfifce  pretfs,  Cambridge 

1897 


Copyright,  1897, 
BT  MARY  N.   MUEFREK. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Prftss,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  8.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  and  Company. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

THE  MYSTERY  OF  OLD  DADDY'S  WINDOW         .        .      1 
'WAY  DOWN  IN  POOR  VALLEY         ....        26 

A  MOUNTAIN  STORM 63 

BORROWING  A  HAMMER 83 

THE  CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW 103 

A  WARNING      .        .        .        .        .        .        .        .      172 

AMONG  THE  CLIFFS .  186 

IN  THE  "CHINKING" 208 

ON  A  HIGHER  LEVEL 230 

CHRISTMAS  DAY  ON  OLD  WINDY  MOUNTAIN         .      245 


502S03 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGK 

HE  WAS  PALLID  AND  PANTING  (see  page  221)  Fron 
tispiece. 
TOGETHER  THEY  WENT  OVER  THE  CLIFF    .        .        .48 

How  LONG  WAS  IT  TO  LAST 190 

IN  THE  MIDST  OF  THE  TORRENT        ....  242 


THE  YOUNG  MOUNTAINEERS 


THE  MYSTEEY  OF  OLD  DADDY'S 
WINDOW 

PICTURE  to  yourself  a  wild  ravine,  gashing 
a  mountain  spur,  and  with  here  and  there  in 
its  course  abrupt  descents.  One  of  these  is 
so  deep  and  sheer  that  it  might  be  called  a 
precipice. 

High  above  it,  from  the  steep  slope  on 
either  hand,  beetling  crags  jut  out.  Their 
summits  almost  meet  at  one  point,  and  thus 
the  space  below  bears  a  rude  resemblance  to 
a  huge  window.  Through  it  you  might  see 
the  blue  heights  in  the  distance;  or  watch 
the  clouds  and  sunshine  shift  over  the  sombre 
mountain  across  the  narrow  valley ;  or  mark, 
after  the  day  has  faded,  how  the  great  Scorpio 
draws  its  shining  curves  along  the  dark  sky. 


2  THE  MYSTERY  OF 

One  night  Jonas  Creyshaw  sat  alone  in  the 
porch  of  his  log  cabin,  hard  by  on  the  slope 
of  the  ravine,  smoking  his  pipe  and  gazing 
meditatively  at  "  Old  Daddy's  Window."  The 
moon  was  full,  and  its  rays  fell  aslant  on  one 
of  the  cliffs,  while  the  rugged  face  of  the 
opposite  crag  was  in  the  shadow. 

Suddenly  he  became  aware  that  something 
was  moving  about  the  precipice,  the  brink  of 
which  seems  the  sill  of  the  window.  Although 
this  precipice  is  sheer  and  insurmountable,  a 
dark  figure  had  risen  from  it,  and  stood  plainly 
defined  against  the  cliff,  which  presented  a 
comparatively  smooth  surface  to  the  brilliant 
moonlight. 

Was  it  a  shadow  ?  he  asked  himself  hastily. 

His  eyes  swept  the  ravine,  only  thirty  feet 
wide  at  that  point,  which  lies  between  the 
two  crags  whose  jutting  summits  almost  meet 
above  it  to  form  Old  Daddy's  Window. 

There  was  no  one  visible  to  cast  a  shadow. 

It  seemed  as  if  the  figure  had  unaccount 
ably  emerged  from  the  sheer  depths  below. 

Only   for   a   moment   it   stood   motionless 


OLD  DADDY'S    WINDOW  3 

against  the  cliff.  Then  it  flung  its  arms 
wildly  above  its  head,  and  with  a  nimble 
spring  disappeared  —  upward. 

Jonas  Creyshaw  watched  it,  his  eyes  dis 
tended,  his  face  pallid,  his  pipe  trembling  in 
his  shaking  hand. 

"  Mirandy  !  "  he  quavered  faintly. 

His  wife,  a  thin,  ailing  woman  with  pinched 
features  and  an  uncertain  eye,  came  to  the 
door. 

"  Thar,"  he  faltered,  pointing  with  his  pipe- 
stem —  "jes'  a  minit  ago  —  I  seen  it!  —  a 
ghost  riz  up  over  the  bluff  inter  Old  Daddy's 
Window ! " 

The  woman  fell  instantly  into  a  panic. 

"  'T  war  n't  a-beckonin',  war  it  ?  'T  war  n't 
a-beckonin'?  'Kase  ef  it  war,  ye '11  hev  ter 
die  right  straight !  That  air  a  sure  sign." 

A  little  of  Jonas  Creyshaw's  pluck  and 
common  sense  came  back  to  him  at  this  un 
pleasant  announcement. 

"Not  on  his  say-so,"  he  stoutly  averred. 
"  I  ain't  a-goin'  ter  do  the  beck  nor  the  bid 
of  enny  onmannerly  harnt  ez  hev  tuk  up  the 


4  THE  MYSTERY  OF 

notion  ter  riz  up  over  the  bluff  inter  Old 
Daddy's  Window,  an'  sot  hisself  ter  motionin' 
ter  me." 

He  rose  hastily,  knocked  the  ashes  out  of 
his  pipe,  and  followed  his  wife  into  the  house. 
There  he  paused  abruptly. 

The  room  was  lighted  by  the  fitful  flicker 
of  the  fire,  for  the  nights  were  still  chilly, 
and  an  old  man,  almost  decrepit,  sat  dozing 
in  his  chair  by  the  hearth. 

"  Mirandy,"  said  Jonas  Creyshaw  in  a 
whisper,  "  'pears  like  ter  me  ez  father  hed 
better  not  be  let  ter  know  'bout'n  that  thar 
harnt.  It  mought  skeer  him  so  ez  he  could  n't 
live  another  minit.  He  hev  aged  some  lately 
—  an'  he  air  weakly." 

This  was  "  Old  Daddy." 

Before  he  had  reached  his  thirtieth  year, 
he  was  thus  known,  far  and  wide. 

"  He  air  the  man  ez  hev  got  a  son,"  the 
mountaineers  used  to  say  in  grinning  expla 
nation.  "  Ter  hear  him  brag  'bout'n  that  thar 
boy  o'  his'n,  ye  'd  think  he  war  the  only  man 
in  Tennessee  ez  ever  hed  a  son." 


OLD  DADDFS   WINDOW  5 

Throughout  all  these  years  the  name  given 
in  jocose  banter  had  clung  to  him,  and  now, 
hallowed  by  ancient  usage,  it  was  accorded 
to  him  seriously,  and  had  all  the  sonorous 
effect  of  a  title. 

So  they  said  nothing  to  Old  Daddy,  but 
presently,  when  he  had  hobbled  off  to  bed  in 
the  adjoining  shed-room,  they  fell  to  discuss 
ing  their  terror  of  the  apparition,  and  thus  it 
chanced  that  the  two  boys,  Tad  and  Si,  first 
made,  as  it  were,  the  ghost's  acquaintance. 

Tad,  a  stalwart  fellow  of  seventeen,  sat 
listening  spellbound  before  the  glowing  em 
bers.  Si,  a  wiry,  active,  tow-headed  boy  of 
twelve,  perched  with  dangling  legs  on  a  chest, 
and  looked  now  at  the  group  by  the  fire,  and 
now  through  the  open  door  at  the  brilliant 
moonlight. 

"  Waal,  sir,"  he  muttered,  "  I  '11  hev  ter  gin 
up  the  notion  o'  gittin'  that  comical  young 
oweZ,  what  I  hev  done  set  my  heart  onto. 
'Kase  ef  I  war  ter  fool  round  Old  Daddy's 
Window,  now,  whilst  I  war  a-cotchin'  o'  the 
owe?,  the  ghost  mought  —  cotch  —  Me  !  " 


6  THE  MYSTERY  OF 

A  sorry  ghost,  to  be  sure,  that  has  nothing 
better  to  do  than  to  "  cotch "  him !  But 
perhaps  Si  Creyshaw  is  not  the  only  one  of 
us  who  has  an  inflated  idea  of  his  own  im 
portance. 

He  was  greatly  awed,  and  he  found  many 
suggestions  of  supernatural  presence  about 
the  familiar  room.  As  the  fire  alternately 
flared  and  faded,  the  warping-bars  looked  as 
if  they  were  dancing  a  clumsy  measure.  The 
handle  of  a  portly  jug  resembled  an  arm  stuck 
akimbo,  and  its  cork,  tilted  askew,  was  like  a 
hat  set  on  one  side ;  Si  fancied  there  was  a 
most  unpleasant  grimace  below  that  hat.  The 
churn-dasher,  left  upon  a  shelf  to  dry,  was 
sardonically  staring  him  out  of  countenance 
with  its  half-dozen  eyes.  The  strings  of  red 
pepper-pods  and  gourds  and  herbs,  swinging 
from  the  rafters,  rustled  faintly ;  it  sounded 
to  Si  like  a  moan. 

He  wished  his  father  and  mother  would 
talk  about  some  wholesome  subject,  like  Spot's 
new  calf,  for  instance,  instead  of  whispering 
about  the  mystery  of  Old  Daddy's  Window. 


OLD  DADDY'S   WINDOW  7 

He  wished  Tad  would  not  look,  as  he  listened, 
so  much  like  a  ghost  himself,  with  his  starting 
eyes  and  pale,  intent  face.  He  even  wished 
that  the  baby  would  wake  up,  and  put  some 
life  into  things  with  a  good  healthy,  rousing 
bawl. 

But  the  baby  slept  peacefully  on,  and  after 
so  long  a  time  Si  Creyshaw  slept  too. 

With  broad  daylight  his  courage  revived. 
He  was  no  longer  afraid  to  think  of  the  ghost. 
In  fact,  he  experienced  a  pleased  importance 
in  giving  Old  Daddy  a  minute  account  of  the 
wonderful  apparition,  for  he  felt  as  if  he  had 
seen  it. 

"  Tears  ter  me  toler'ble  comical,  gran'dad, 
ez  they  never  tole  ye  a  word  'bout'n  it  all," 
he  said  in  conclusion.  "  Ye  mought  hev  liked 
ter  seen  the  harnt.  Ef  he  war  'quainted  with 
ye  when  he  lived  in  this  life,  he  mought  hev 
stopped  an'  jowed  sociable  fur  a  spell ! " 

How  brave  this  small  boy  was  in  the  cheer 
ful  sunshine ! 

Old  Daddy  hardly  seemed  impressed  with 
the  pleasure  he  had  missed  in  losing  a  sociable 


8  THE  MYSTERY  OF 

"  jow  "  with  a  ghostly  crony.  He  sat  silent, 
blinking  in  the  sunshine  that  fell  through  the 
gourd-vines  which  clambered  about  the  porch 
where  Si  had  placed  his  chair. 

"  'T  war  n't  much  of  a  sizable  sperit,"  Si 
declared ;  he  seemed  courageous  enough  now 
to  measure  the  ghost  like  a  tailor.  "  It  war  n't 
more  'n  four  feet  high,  ez  nigh  ez  dad  could 
jedge.  Toler'ble  small  fur  a  harnt ! " 

Still  the  old  man  made  no  reply.  His 
wrinkled  hands  were  clasped  on  his  stick. 
His  white  head,  shaded  by  his  limp  black  hat, 
was  bent  down  close  to  them.  There  was  a 
slow,  pondering  expression  on  his  face,  but 
an  excited  gleam  in  his  eye.  Presently,  he 
pointed  backward  toward  a  little  unhewn  log 
shanty  that  served  as  a  barn,  and  rising  with 
unwonted  alacrity,  he  said  to  the  boy,  — 

"  Fotch  me  the  old  beastis  !  " 

Silas  Creyshaw  stood  amazed,  for  Old 
Daddy  had  not  mounted  a  horse  for  twenty 
years. 

"  Studyin'  'bout'n  the  harnt  so  much  hev 
teched  him  in  the  head,"  the  small  boy  con- 


OLD  DADDY'S    WINDOW  9 

eluded.  Then  he  made  an  excuse,  for  he 
knew  his  grandfather  was  too  old  and  feeble 
to  safely  undertake  a  solitary  jaunt  on  horse 
back. 

"  I  war  tole  not  ter  leave  ye  fur  a  minit, 
gran'dad.  I  war  ter  stay  nigh  ye  an'  mind 
yer  bid." 

"That's  my  bid!"  said  the  old  man 
sternly.  "  Fotch  the  beastis." 

There  was  no  one  else  about  the  place. 
Jonas  Creyshaw  had  gone  fishing  shortly  after 
daybreak.  His  wife  had  trudged  off  to  her 
sister's  house  down  in  the  cove,  and  had 
taken  the  baby  with  her.  Tad  was  plough 
ing  in  the  cornfield  on  the  other  side  of  the 
ravine.  Si  had  no  advice,  and  he  had  been 
brought  up  to  think  that  Old  Daddy's  word 
was  law. 

When  the  old  man,  mounted  at  last,  was 
jogging  up  the  road,  Tad  chanced  to  come  to 
the  house  for  a  bit  of  rope  to  mend  the  plough- 
gear.  He  saw,  far  up  the  leafy  vista,  the 
departing  cavalier.  He  cast  a  look  of  amazed 
reproach  upon  Si.  Then,  speechless  with 


10  THE  MYSTERY  OF 

astonishment,  he  silently  pointed  at  the  dis 
tant  figure. 

Si  was  a  logician. 

"I  never   lef  him"    he   said.     "He  lef 


me." 


"Ye  oughter  rej'ice  in  yer  whole  bones 
while  ye  hev  got  'em/'  Tad  returned,  with 
withering  sarcasm.  "  When  dad  kerns  home, 
some  of  'em  '11  git  bruk,  sure.  War  n't  ye 
tole  not  ter  leave  him  fur  nuthin',  ye  triflin' 
shoat !  " 

"  He  lef  me  !  "  Si  stoutly  maintained. 

Meantime,  Old  Daddy  journeyed  on. 

Except  for  the  wonderful  mountain  air,  the 
settlement,  three  miles  distant,  had  nothing 
about  it  to  indicate  its  elevation.  It  was  far 
from  the  cliffs,  and  there  was  no  view.  It  was 
simply  a  little  hollow  of  a  clearing  scooped 
out  among  the  immense  forests.  When  the 
mountaineers  clear  land,  they  do  it  effectually. 
Not  a  tree  was  left  to  embellish  the  yards  of 
any  of  the  four  or  five  little  log  huts  that  con 
stituted  the  hamlet,  and  the  glare  was  intense. 

As  six  or  eight  loungers  sat  smoking  about 


OLD  DADDY'S   WINDOW  11 

the  door  of  the  store,  there  was  nothing  to 
intercept  their  astonished  view  of  Old  Daddy 
when  he  suddenly  appeared  out  of  the  gloomy 
forest,  blinking  in  the  sun  and  bent  half 
double  with  fatigue. 

Even  the  rudest  and  coarsest  of  these  moun 
taineers  accord  a  praiseworthy  deference  to 
the  aged  among  them.  Old  Daddy  was  held 
in  reverential  estimation  at  home,  and  was 
well  accustomed  to  the  respect  shown  him 
now,  when,  for  the  first  time  in  many  years, 
he  had  chosen  to  jog  abroad.  They  helped 
him  to  dismount,  and  carried  him  bodily  into 
the  store.  After  he  had  tilted  his  chair  back 
against  the  rude  counter,  he  looked  around 
with  an  important  face  upon  the  attentive 
group. 

"My  son,"  shrilly  piped  out  Old  Daddy, 
—  "my  son  air  the  strongest  man  ever  seen, 
sence  Samson  ! " 

"I  hev  always  hearn  that  sayin',  Old 
Daddy,"  acquiesced  an  elderly  codger,  who, 
by  reason  of  "  rheumatics,"  made  no  preten 
sion  to  muscle. 


12  THE  MYSTERY  OF 

A  gigantic  young  blacksmith  looked  down 
at  his  corded  hammer-arm,  but  said  nothing. 

A  fly  —  several  flies  —  buzzed  about  the 
sorghum  barrel. 

"My  son/'   shrilly  piped  out  Old  Daddy, 

—  "my  son  air  the  bes'  shot  on  this  hyar 
mounting." 

"  That 's  a  true  word,  Old  Daddy/'  assented 
the  schoolmaster,  who  had  ceased  to  be  a  Nim- 
rod  since  devoting  himself  to  teaching  the 
young  idea  how  to  shoot. 

The  hunters  smoked  in  solemn  silence. 

The  shadow  of  a  cloud  drifted  along  the 
bare  sandy  stretch  of  the  clearing. 

"  My  son/'  shrilly  piped   out  Old  Daddy, 

—  "  my  son  hev  got  the  peartest  boys  in  Ten 


nessee." 


"  I  '11  gin  ye  that  up,  Old  Daddy,"  cheer 
fully  agreed  the  miller,  whose  family  con 
sisted  of  two  small  "  daughters." 

The  fathers  of  other  "  peart  boys  "  cleared 
their  throats  uneasily,  but  finally  subsided 
without  offering  contradiction. 

A  jay-bird  alighted  on  a  blackberry  bush 


OLD  DADDY'S   WINDOW  13 

outside,  fluttered  all  his  blue  and  white  feath 
ers,  screamed  harshly,  bobbed  his  crested 
head,  and  was  off  on  his  gay  wings. 

"  My  son,"  shrilly  piped  out  Old  Daddy, 
—  "  my  son  hev  been  gifted  with  the  sight  o' 
what  no  other  man  on  this  mounting  hev  ever 
viewed." 

The  group  sat  amazed,  expectant.  But  the 
old  man  preserved  a  stately  silence.  Only 
when  the  storekeeper  eagerly  insisted,  "  What 
hev  Jonas  seen  ?  what  war  he  gin  ter  view  ?  " 
did  Old  Daddy  bring  the  fore  legs  of  the 
chair  down  with  a  thump,  lean  forward,  and 
mysteriously  pipe  out  like  a  superannuated 
cricket,  — 

"  My  son,  —  my  son  hev  seen  a  harnt,  what 
riz  up  over  the  bluff  a-purpose  !  " 

"  Whar  'bouts  ?  "  «  When  ?  "  «  Waal,  sir !  " 
arose  in  varied  clamors. 

So  the  proud  old  man  told  the  story  he  had 
journeyed  three  laborious  miles  to  spread.  It 
had  no  terrors  for  him,  so  completely  was  fear 
swallowed  up  in  admiration  of  his  wonderful 
son,  who  had  added  to  his  other  perfections 
the  gift  of  seeing  ghosts. 


14  THE  MYSTERY  OF 

The  men  discussed  it  eagerly.  There  were 
some  jokes  cracked  —  as  it  was  still  broad 
noonday — and  at  one  of  these  Old  Daddy 
took  great  offense,  more  perhaps  because  the 
disrespect  was  offered  to  his  son  rather  than 
to  himself. 

"  Jes'  gin  Jonas  the  word  from  me/'  said 
the  young  blacksmith,  meaning  no  harm  and 
laughing  good-naturedly,  "  ez  I  kin  tell  him 
percisely  what  makes  him  see  harnts ;  it  air 
drinkin'  so  much  o'  this  onhealthy  whiskey, 
what  hain't  got  no  tax  paid  onto  it.  I  looks 
ter  see  him  jes'  a-staggerin'  the  nex'  time  I 
comes  up  with  him." 

Old  Daddy  rose  with  affronted  dignity. 

"  My  son,"  he  declared  vehemently,  —  "  my 
son  ain't  gin  over  ter  drinkin'  whiskey,  tax  or 
no  tax.  An'  he  ain't  got  no  call  ter  stagger 
—  like  some  folks  !  " 

And  despite  all  apology  and  protest,  he  left 
the  house  in  a  huff. 

His  old  bones  ached  with  the  unwonted 
exercise,  and  were  rudely  enough  jarred  by  the 
rough  roads  and  the  awful  gaits  of  his  ancient 


OLD  DADDY'S    WINDOW  15 

steed.  The  sun  was  hot,  and  so  was  his  heart, 
and  when  he  reached  home,  infinitely  fatigued 
and  querulous,  he  gave  his  son  a  sorry  account 
of  his  reception  at  the  store.  As  he  con 
cluded,  saying  that  five  of  the  men  had  sent 
word  that  they  would  be  at  Jonas  Creyshaw's 
house  at  moon-rise  "  ter  holp  him  see  the 
harnt,"  his  son's  brow  darkened,  and  he  strode 
heavily  out  of  the  room. 

He  usually  exhibited  in  a  high  degree  the 
hospitality  characteristic  of  these  mountain 
eers,  but  now  it  had  given  way  to  a  still 
stronger  instinct. 

"Si,"  he  said,  coming  suddenly  upon  the 
boy,  "  put  out  right  now  fur  Bently's  store  at 
the  settlemint,  an'  tell  them  sneaks  ez  hang 
round  thar  ter  sarch  round  thar  own  houses 
fur  harnts,  ef  they  hanker  ter  see  enny  harnts. 
Ef  they  hev  got  the  insurance  ter  kem  hyar, 
they  '11  see  wusser  sights  'n  enny  harnts.  Tell 
'em  I  ain't  a-goin'  ter  'low  no  man  ter  cross 
my  doorstep  ez  don't  show  Old  Daddy  the 
right  medjure  o'  respec'.  They  'd  better  keep 
out'n  my  way  ginerally." 


16  THE  MYSTERY  OF 

So  with  this  bellicose  message  Si  set  out. 
But  an  unlucky  idea  occurred  to  him  as  he 
went  plodding  along  the  sandy  road. 

"  Whilst  I  'm  a-goin'  on  this  hyar  harnt's 
yerrand  "  —  The  logical  Si  brought  up  with 
a  shiver. 

"  I  went  ter  say  —  whilst  I  'm  a-goin'  on 
this  hyar  yerrand  fur  the  harnt "  —  This 
was  as  bad. 

"  Whilst/'  he  qualified  once  more,  "  I  'm 
a-goin'  on  this  hyar  yerrand  'bout'n  the  harnt, 
I  mought  ez  well  skeet  off  in  them  deep  woods 
a  piece  ter  see  ef  enny  wild  cherries  air  ripe 
on  that  tree  by  the  spring.  I  '11  hev  plenty 
o'  time." 

But  even  Si  could  not  persuade  himself  that 
the  cherries  were  ripe,  and  he  stood  for  a  mo 
ment  under  the  tree,  staring  disconsolately  at 
the  distant  blue  ridges  shimmering  through 
the  heated  air.  The  sunlight  was  motion 
less,  languid ;  it  seemed  asleep.  The  drowsy 
drone  of  insects  filled  the  forest.  As  Si 
threw  himself  down  to  rest  on  the  rocky  brink 
of  the  mountain,  a  grasshopper  sprang  away 


OLD  DADDY'S    WINDOW  17 

suddenly,  high  into  the  air,  with  an  agility 
that  suggested  to  him  the  chorus  of  a  song, 
which  he  began  to  sing  in  a  loud  and  self- 
sufficient  voice :  — 

"  The  grasshopper  said  —  *  Now,  don't  ye  see 
Thar  's  mighty  few  dancers  sech  ez  me  — 
Sech  ezme!  —  Sech  ez  ME  ! ' " 

This  reminded  Si  of  his  own  capabilities  as 
a  dancer.  He  rose  and  began  to  caper  nimbly, 
executing  a  series  of  steps  that  were  singularly 
swift,  spry,  and  unexpected,  —  a  good  deal  on 
the  grasshopper's  method.  His  tattered  black 
hat  bobbed  up  and  down  on  his  tow  head ; 
his  brown  jeans  trousers,  so  loose  on  his  lean 
legs,  flapped  about  hilariously ;  his  bare  heels 
flew  out  right  and  left ;  he  snapped  his  fin 
gers  to  mark  the  time ;  now  and  then  he  stuck 
his  arms  akimbo,  and  cut  what  he  called  the 
"  widgeon-ping."  But  his  freckled  face  was 
as  grave  as  ever,  and  all  the  time  that  he 
danced  he  sang  :  — 

"  In  the  middle  o'  the  night  the  rain  kem  down, 
An'  gin  the  corn  a  fraish  start  out'n  the  ground, 
An'  I  thought  nex'  day  ez  I  stood  in  the  door, 
That  sassy  bug  mus'  be  drownded  sure  ! 


18  THE  MYSTERY  OF 

But  thar  war  Goggle-eyes,  peart  an'  gay, 
Twangin'  an'  a-tunin'  up  — '  Now,  dance  away  ! 
Ye  may  sarch  night  an'  day  ez  a  constancy 
An'  ye  won't  find  a  fiddler  sech  ez  me  ! 
Sech  ez  me  !  —  Sech  ez  ME  !  ' " 

As  he  sank  back  exhausted  upon  the  ground, 
a  new  aspect  of  the  scene  caught  his  attention. 

Those  blue  mountains  were  purpling  — 
there  was  an  ever-deepening  flush  in  the  west. 
It  was  close  upon  sunset,  and  while  he  had 
wasted  the  tune,  the  five  men  to  whom  his 
father  had  sent  that  stern  message  forbidding 
them  to  come  to  his  house  were  perhaps  on 
their  way  thither,  with  every  expectation  of  a 
cordial  welcome.  There  might  be  a  row  — 
even  a  fight  —  and  all  because  he  had  loitered. 

How  he  tore  out  of  the  brambly  woods! 
How  he  pounded  along  the  sandy  road !  But 
when  he  reached  the  settlement  close  upon 
nightfall,  the  storekeeper's  wife  told  him  that 
the  men  had  gone  long  ago. 

"  They  war  powerful  special  ter  git  off 
early,"  she  added,  "  'kase  they  wanted  ter  be 
thar  'fore  Old  Daddy  drapped  off  ter  sleep. 
Some  o'  them  foolish,  slack-jawed  boys  ter  the 


OLD  DADDTS   WINDOW  19 

store  ter-day  riled  the  old  man's  feelin's,  an' 
they  'lowed  ter  patch  up  the  peace  with  him, 
an'  let  him  an'  Jonas  know  ez  they  never 
meant  no  harm." 

This  suggestion  buoyed  up  the  boy's  heart 
to  some  degree  as  he  toiled  along  the  "  short 
cut "  homeward  through  the  heavy  shades  of 
the  gloomy  woods  and  the  mystic  effects  of  the 
red  rising  moon.  But  he  was  not  altogether 
without  anxiety  until,  as  he  drew  within  sight 
of  the  log  cabin  on  the  slope  of  the  ravine, 
he  heard  Old  Daddy  piping  pacifically  to  the 
guests  about  "  my  son/'  and  Jonas  Creyshaw's 
jolly  laughter. 

The  moon  was  golden  now ;  Si  could  see 
its  brilliant  shafts  of  light  strike  aslant  upon 
the  smooth  surface  of  the  cliff  that  formed 
the  opposite  side  of  Old  Daddy's  Window. 
He  stopped  short  in  the  deep  shadow  of  the 
more  rugged  crag.  The  vines  and  bushes 
that  draped  its  many  jagged  ledges  dripped 
with  dew.  The  boughs  of  an  old  oak,  which 
grew  close  by,  swayed  gently  in  the  breeze. 
Hidden  by  its  huge  bole,  Si  cast  an  appre- 


20  THE  MYSTERY  OF 

hensive  glance  toward  the  house  where  his 
elders  sat. 

Certainly  no  one  was  thinking  of  him  now. 

"  This  air  my  chance  fur  that  young  oweZ 
—  ef  ever/'  he  said  to  himself. 

The  owl's  nest  was  in  the  hollow  of  the  tree. 
The  trunk  was  far  too  bulky  to  admit  of  climb 
ing,  and  the  lowest  branches  were  well  out  of 
the  boy's  reach.  Some  thirty  feet  from  the 
ground,  however,  one  of  the  boughs  touched 
the  crag.  By  clambering  up  its  rugged,  irreg 
ular  ledges,  making  a  zigzag  across  its  whole 
breadth  to  the  right  and  then  a  similar  zigzag 
to  the  left,  Si  might  gain  a  position  which 
would  enable  him  to  clutch  this  bough  of  the 
tree.  Thence  he  could  scramble  along  to  the 
owl's  stronghold. 

He  hesitated.  He  knew  his  elders  would 
disapprove  of  so  reckless  an  undertaking  as 
climbing  about  Old  Daddy's  Window,  for  in 
venturing  toward  its  outer  verge,  a  false  step, 
a  crumbling  ledge,  the  snapping  of  a  vine, 
would  fling  him  down  the  sheer  precipice  into 
the  depths  below. 


OLD  DADDY'S   WINDOW  21 

His  hankering  for  a  pet  owl  had  neverthe 
less  brought  him  here  more  than  once.  It 
was  only  yesterday  evening  —  before  he  had 
heard  of  the  ghost's  appearance,  however  — 
that  he  had  made  his  last  futile  attempt. 

He  looked  up  doubtfully.  "  I  ain't  ez 
strong  ez  —  ez  some  folks,"  he  admitted. 

"  But  then,  come  ter  think  of  it,"  he  ar 
gued  astutely,  "  I  don't  weigh  nuthin'  sca'cely, 
an'  thar  ain't  much  of  me  ter  hev  ter  haul  up 
thar." 

He  flung  off  his  hat,  he  laid  his  wiry  hands 
upon  the  wild  grape-vines,  he  felt  with  his 
bare  feet  for  the  familiar  niches  and  jagged 
edges,  and  up  he  went,  working  steadily  to  the 
right,  across  the  broad  face  of  the  cliff. 

Its  heavy  shadow  concealed  him  from  view. 
Only  one  ledge,  at  the  extreme  verge  of  the 
crag,  jutted  out  into  the  full  moonbeams.  But 
this,  by  reason  of  the  intervening  bushes  and 
vines,  could  not  be  seen  by  those  who  sat  in 
the  cabin  porch  on  the  slope  of  the  ravine, 
and  he  was  glad  to  have  light  just  here,  for 
it  was  the  most  perilous  point  of  his  enter- 


22  THE  MYSTERY  OF 

prise.  By  deft  scrambling,  however,  he  suc 
ceeded  in  getting  on  the  moonlit  ledge. 

"  I  clumb  like  a  painter  !  "  he  declared  tri 
umphantly. 

He  rested  there  for  a  moment  before  at 
tempting  to  reach  the  vines  high  up  on  the 
left  hand,  which  he  must  grasp  in  order  to 
draw  himself  up  into  the  shadowy  niche  in  the 
rock,  and  begin  his  zigzag  course  back  again 
across  the  face  of  the  cliff  to  the  projecting 
bough  of  the  tree. 

But  suddenly,  as  he  still  stood  motionless 
on  the  ledge  in  the  full  radiance  of  the  moon, 
the  clamor  of  frightened  voices  sounded  at 
the  house.  Until  now  he  had  forgotten  all 
about  the  ghost.  He  turned,  horror-stricken. 

There  was  the  frightful  thing,  plainly  de 
fined  against  the  smooth  surface  of  the  oppo 
site  cliff  —  some  thirty  feet  distant  —  that 
formed  the  other  side  of  Old  Daddy's  Window. 

And  certainly  there  are  mighty  few  dan 
cers  such  as  that  ghost !  It  lunged  actively 
toward  the  precipice.  It  suddenly  dashed 
wildly  back  —  gyrating  continually  with  sin- 


OLD  DADDY'S   WINDOW  23 

gularly  nimble  feet,  flinging  wiry  arms  aloft 
and  maintaining  a  sinister  silence,  while  the 
frightened  clamor  at  the  house  grew  ever 
louder  and  more  shrill. 

Several  minutes  elapsed  before  Si  recognized 
something  peculiarly  familiar  in  the  ghost's 
wiry  nimbleness — before  he  realized  that  the 
shadow  of  the  cliff  on  which  he  stood  reached 
across  the  ravine  to  the  base  of  the  opposite 
cliff,  and  that  the  figure  which  had  caused  so 
much  alarm  was  only  his  own  shadow  cast 
upon  its  perpendicular  surface. 

He  stopped  short  in  those  antics  which  had 
been  induced  by  mortal  terror ;  of  course,  his 
shadow,  too,  was  still  instantly.  It  stood 
upon  the  brink  of  the  precipice  which  seems 
the  sill  of  Old  Daddy's  Window,  and  showed 
distinctly  on  the  smooth  face  of  the  cliff  oppo 
site  to  him. 

He  understood,  after  a  moment's  reflection, 
how  it  was  that  as  he  had  climbed  up  on  the 
ledge  in  the  full  moonlight  his  shadow  had 
seemed  to  rise  gradually  from  the  vague 
depths  below  the  insurmountable  precipice. 


24  THE  MYSTERY  OF 

He  sprang  nimbly  upward  to  seize  the 
vines  that  shielded  him  from  the  observation 
of  the  ghost-seers  on  the  cabin  porch,  and  as  he 
caught  them  and  swung  himself  suddenly  from 
the  moonlit  ledge  into  the  gloomy  shade,  he 
noticed  that  his  shadow  seemed  to  fling  its  arms 
wildly  above  its  head,  and  disappeared  upward. 

"  That  air  jes'  what  dad  seen  las'  night 
when  I  war  down  hyar  afore,  a-figurin'  ter 
ketch  that  thar  leetle  owe/,"  he  said  to  him 
self  when  he  had  reached  the  tree  and  sat  in 
a  crotch,  panting  and  excited. 

After  a  moment,  regardless  of  the  coveted 
owl,  he  swung  down  from  branch  to  branch, 
dropped  easily  from  the  lowest  upon  the 
ground,  picked  up  his  hat,  and  prepared  to 
skulk  along  the  "  short  cut,"  strike  the  road, 
and  come  home  by  that  route  as  if  he  had  just 
returned  from  the  settlement. 

"  'Kase,"  he  argued  sagely,  "  ef  them 
skeered-ter-death  grown  folks  war  ter  find  out 
ez  /war  the  harnt  —  I  mean  ez  the  harnt  war 
me  —  ennyhow,"  he  concluded  desperately, 
"I'd  KETCH  it  —  sure !  " 


OLD  DADDY'S   WINDOW  25 

So  impressed  was  he  with  this  idea  that  he 
discreetly  held  his  tongue. 

And  from  that  day  to  this,  Jonas  Creyshaw 
and  his  friends  have  been  unable  to  solve  the 
mystery  of  Old  Daddy's  Window. 


'WAY  DOWN  IN  POOR  VALLEY 

CHAPTER  I 

THERE  was  the  grim  Big  Injun  Mountain 
to  the  right,  with  its  bare,  beetling  sandstone 
crags.  There  was  the  long  line  of  cherty 
hills  to  the  left,  covered  by  a  dark  growth  of 
stunted  pines.  Between  lay  that  melancholy 
stretch  of  sterility  known  as  Poor  Valley,  — 
the  poorest  of  the  several  valleys  in  Tennessee 
thus  piteously  denominated,  because  of  the 
sorry  contrast  which  they  present  to  the  rich 
coves  and  fertile  vales  so  usual  among  the 
mountains  of  the  State. 

How  poor  the  soil  was,  Ike  Hooden  might 
bitterly  testify  ;  for  ever  since  he  could  hold 
a  plough  he  had,  year  after  year,  followed  the 
old  "  bull-tongue "  through  the  furrows  of 
the  sandy  fields  which  lay  around  the  log 
cabin  at  the  base  of  the  mountain.  In  the 
intervals  of  "  crappin' '  he  worked  at  the 


9WA  Y  DOWN  IN  POOR   VALLEY          27 

forge  with  his  stepfather,  for  close  at  hand, 
in  the  shadow  of  a  great  jutting  cliff,  lurked 
a  dark  little  shanty  of  unhewn  logs  that  was 
a  blacksmith's  shop. 

When  he  first  began  this  labor,  he  was, 
perhaps,  the  youngest  striker  that  ever 
wielded  a  sledge.  Now,  at  eighteen,  he  had 
become  expert  at  the  trade,  and  his  muscles 
were  admirably  developed.  He  was  tall  and 
robust,  and  he  had  never  an  ache  nor  an  ill, 
except  in  his  aching  heart.  But  his  heart 
was  sore,  for  in  the  shop  he  found  oaths  and 
harsh  treatment,  and  even  at  home  these  pur 
sued  him  ;  while  outside,  desolation  was  set 
like  a  seal  on  Poor  Valley. 

One  drear  autumnal  afternoon,  when  the 
sky  was  dull,  a  dense  white  mist  overspread 
the  valley.  As  Ike  plodded  up  the  steep 
mountain  side,  the  vapor  followed  him,  creep 
ing  silently  along  the  deep  ravines  and  chasms, 
till  at  length  it  overtook  and  enveloped  him. 
Then  only  a  few  feet  of  the  familiar  path 
remained  visible. 

Suddenly  he  stopped  short  and  stared.     A 


28          'WAY  DOWN  IN  POOR    VALLEY 

dim,  distorted  something  was  peering  at  him 
from  over  the  top  of  a  big  boulder.  It  was 
moving  —  it  nodded  at  him.  Then  he  in 
distinctly  recognized  it  as  a  tall,  conical 
hat.  There  seemed  a  sort  of  featureless  face 
below  it. 

A  thrill  of  fear  crept  through  him.  His 
hands  grew  cold  and  shook  in  his  pockets. 
He  leaned  forward,  gazing  intently  into  the 
thick  fog. 

An  odd  distortion  crossed  the  vague,  fea 
tureless  face  —  like  a  leer,  perhaps.  Once 
more  the  tall,  conical  hat  nodded  fantastically. 

"  Ef  ye  do  that  agin,"  cried  Ike,  in  sudden 
anger,  all  his  pluck  coming  back  with  a  rush, 
"I  '11  gin  ye  a  lick  ez  will  weld  yer  head  an' 
the  boulder  together  !  " 

He  lifted  his  clenched  fist  and  shook  it. 

"  Haw  !  haw !  haw  !  "  laughed  the  man  in 
the  mist. 

Ike  cooled  off  abruptly.  He  had  been 
kicked  and  cuffed  half  his  life,  but  he  had 
never  been  laughed  at.  Ridicule  tamed  him. 
He  was  ashamed,  and  he  remembered  that  he 


'WAY  DOWN  IN  POOR    VALLEY          29 

had  been  afraid,  for  he  had  thought  the  man 
was  some  "  roamin'  harnt." 

"  I  dunno,"  said  Ike  sulkily,  "  ez  ye  hev 
got  enny  call  ter  pounce  so  suddint  out'n  the 
fog,  an'  go  ter  noddin'  that  cur'ous  way  ter 
folks  ez  can't  half  see  ye." 

"  I  never  knowed  afore,"  said  the  man  in 
the  mist,  with  mock  apology  in  his  tone  and 
in  the  fantastic  gyrations  of  his  nodding  hat, 
"  ez  it  air  you-uns  ez  owns  this  mounting." 
He  looked  derisively  at  Ike  from  head  to  foot. 
"  Ye  air  the  biggest  man  in  Tennessee,  ain't 
ye?" 

"  Naw  ! "  said  Ike  shortly,  feeling  pain 
fully  awkward,  as  an  overgrown  boy  is  apt 
to  do. 

"  Waal,  from  yer  height,  I  mought  hev 
thunk  ye  war  that  big  Injun  that  the  old  folks 
tells  about,"  and  the  stranger  broke  suddenly 
into  a  hoarse,  quavering  chant :  — 

" '  A  red  man  lived  in  Tennessee, 

Mighty  big  Injun,  sure ! 
He  growed  ez  high  ez  the  tallest  tree, 
An'  he  sez,  sez  he,  "  Big  Injun,  me  !  " 
Mighty  big  Injun,  sure  ! ' 


30          'WAY  DOWN  IN  POOR   VALLEY 

"  Waal,  waal,"  in  a  pensive  voice,  "  so  ye 
ain't  him  ?  I  'm  powerful  glad  ye  tole  me 
that,  sonny,  'kase  I  mought  hev  got  skeered 
hyar  in  the  woods  by  myself  with  that  big 
Injun." 

He  laughed  boisterously,  and  began  to  sing 
again :  — 

"  *  Settlers  blazed  out  a  road,  ye  see, 

Mighty  big  Injun,  sure  ! 
He  combed  thar  hair  with  a  knife.     Sez  he, 
"  It 's  combed  fur  good  !    Big  Injun,  me  ! " 
Mighty  big  Injun,  sure  ! ' " 

He  broke  out  laughing  afresh,  and  Ike, 
abashed  and  indignant,  was  about  to  pass  on, 
when  the  man  gayly  balanced  himself  on  one 
foot,  as  if  he  were  about  to  dance  a  grotesque 
jig,  and  held  out  at  arm's  length  a  big  silver 
coin. 

It  was  a  dollar.  That  meant  a  great  deal 
to  Ike,  for  he  earned  no  money  he  could  call 
his  own. 

"Free  an'  enlightened  citizen  o'  these 
Nunited  States,"  the  man  addressed  him  with 
mock  solemnity,  "  I  brung  this  dollar  hyar  fur 
you-uns." 


'WAY  DOWN  IN  POOR   VALLEY          31 

"  What  air  ye  layin'  off  fur  me  ter  do?" 
asked  Ike. 

The  man  grew  abruptly  grave.  "Jes' 
stable  this  hyar  critter  fur  a  night  an'  day." 

For  the  first  time  Ike  became  aware  of  a 
horse's  flank,  dimly  seen  on  the  other  side  of 
the  boulder. 

"  Ter-morrer  night  ride  him  up  ter  my 
house  on  the  mounting.  Ye  hev  hearn  tell 
o'  me,  hain't  ye,  Jedge?  My  name's  Grig 
Beemy.  Don't  kem  till  night,  'kase  I  won't 
be  thar  till  then.  I  hev  got  ter  stop  yander 
—  yander  "  —  he  looked  about  uncertainly, 
"  yander  ter  the  sawmill  till  then,  'kase  I 
promised  ter  holp  work  thar  some.  I  '11  gin 
ye  the  dollar  now,"  he  added  liberally,  as  an 
extra  inducement. 

"  I'll  be  powerful  glad  ter  do  that  thar  job 
fur  a  dollar,"  said  Ike,  thinking,  with  a  glow 
of  self-gratulation,  of  the  corn  which  he  had 
raised  in  his  scanty  leisure  on  his  own  little 
patch  of  ground,  and  which  he  might  use  to 
feed  the  animal. 

"  But  hold  yer  jaw  'bout'n  it,  boy.     Yer 


32          'WAY  DOWN  IN  POOR    VALLEY 

stepdad  would  n't  let  the  beastis  stay  thar  a 
minute  ef  he  knowed  it,  'kase  —  waal  —  'kase 
me  an'  him  hev  hed  words.  Slip  the  beastis 
in  on  the  sly.  Pearce  Tallam  don't  feed  an' 
tend  ter  his  critters  nohow.  I  hev  hearn  ez 
his  boys  do  that  job,  so  he  ain't  like  ter  find 
it  out.  On  the  sly  —  that 's  the  trade." 

Ike  hesitated. 

Once  more  the  man  teetered  on  one  foot, 
and  held  out  the  coin  temptingly.  But  Ike's 
better  instincts  came  to  his  aid. 

"  That  barn  b'longs  ter  Pearce  Tallam.  I 
puts  nuthin'  thar  'thout  his  knowin'  it.  I 
ain't  a  fox,  nur  a  mink,  nur  su'thin  wild,  ter 
go  skulkin'  'bout  on  the  sly." 

Then  he  pressed  hastily  on  out  of  tempta 
tion's  way. 

"  Haw  !  haw  !  haw  ! "  laughed  the  man  in 
the  mist. 

There  was  no  mirth  in  the  tones  now ;  his 
laugh  was  a  bitter  gibe.  As  it  followed  Ike, 
it  reminded  him  that  the  man  had  not  yet 
moved  from  beside  the  boulder,  or  he  would 
have  heard  the  thud  of  the  horse's  hoofs. 


'WAY  DOWN  IN  POOR   VALLEY          33 

He  turned  and  glanced  back.  The  opaque 
white  mist  was  dense  about  him,  and  he  could 
see  nothing.  As  he  stood  still,  he  heard  a 
muttered  oath,  and  after  a  time  the  man 
cleared  his  throat  in  a  rasping  fashion,  as  if 
the  oath  had  stuck  in  it. 

Ike  understood  at  last.  The  man  was 
waiting  for  somebody.  And  this  was  strange, 
here  in  the  thick  fog  on  the  bleak  mountain 
side.  But  Ike  said  to  himself  that  it  was  no 
concern  of  his,  and  plodded  steadily  on,  till 
he  reached  a  dark  little  log  house,  above 
which  towered  a  flaring  yellow  hickory  tree. 

Within,  ranged  on  benches,  were  homespun- 
clad  mountain  children.  A  high-shouldered, 
elderly  man  sat  at  a  table  near  the  deep  fire 
place,  where  a  huge  backlog  was  smoulder 
ing.  Through  the  cobwebbed  window-panes 
the  mists  looked  in. 

Ike  did  not  speak  as  he  stood  on  the  thresh 
old,  but  his  greedy  glance  at  the  scholars' 
books  enlightened  the  pedagogue.  "  Do  you 
want  to  come  to  school  ?  "  he  asked. 

Then   the   boy's   long-cherished  grievance 


34  'WAY  DOWN  IN  POOR   VALLEY 

burst  forth.  "  They  hev  tole  me  ez  how  it 
air  agin  the  law,  bein'  ez  I  lives  out'n  the 
deestric'." 

The  teacher  elevated  his  grizzled  eyebrows, 
and  Ike  said,  "  I  kem  hyar  ter  ax  ye  ef  that 
be  a  true  word.  I  'lowed  ez  mebbe  my  dad 
tole  me  that  word  jes'  ter  hender  me,  an' 
keep  me  at  the  forge.  It  riles  me  powerful 
ter  hev  ter  be  an  ignorunt  all  my  days." 

To  a  stranger,  this  reflection  on  his  "  dad  " 
seemed  unbecoming.  The  teacher's  sympathy 
ebbed.  He  looked  severely  at  the  boy's  pale, 
anxious  face,  as  he  coldly  said  that  he  could 
teach  no  pupils  who  resided  outside  his  school 
district,  except  out  of  regular  school  hours, 
and  with  a  charge  for  tuition. 

Ike  Hooden  had  no  money.  He  nodded 
suddenly  in  farewell,  the  door  closed,  and 
when  the  schoolmaster,  in  returning  com 
passion,  opened  it  after  him,  and  peered  out 
into  the  impenetrable  mist,  the  boy  was  no 
where  to  be  seen.  He  had  taken  his  despair 
by  the  hand,  and  together  they  went  down, 
down  into  the  depths  of  Poor  Valley. 


'WAY  DOWN  IN  POOR    VALLEY          35 

He  stood  so  sorely  in  need  of  a  little  kind 
ness  that  he  felt  grateful  for  the  friendly 
aspect  of  his  stepbrother,  whom  he  met  just 
before  he  reached  the  shop. 

"Tears  like  ye  air  toler'ble  late  a-gittin' 
home,  Ike,"  said  Jube.  "I  done  ye  the 
favior  ter  feed  the  critters.  I  'lowed  ez  ye 
would  do  ez  much  fur  me  some  day.  I'll 
feed  'em  agin  in  the  mornin',  ef  ye  '11  forge 
me  three  lenks  ter  my  trace-chain  ter-night, 
arter  dad  hev  gone  home." 

Now  this  broad-faced,  sandy-haired,  un 
dersized  boy,  who  was  two  or  three  years 
younger  than  Ike,  and  not  strong  enough 
for  work  at  the  anvil,  was  a  great  tactician. 
It  was  his  habit,  in  doing  a  favor,  rigor 
ously  to  exact  a  set-off,  and  that  night  when 
the  blacksmith  had  left  the  shop,  Jube 
slouched  in. 

The  flare  of  the  forge-fire  illumined  with  a 
fitful  flicker  the  dark  interior,  showing  the 
rod  across  the  corner  with  its  jingling  weight 
of  horseshoes,  a  ploughshare  on  the  ground, 
the  barrel  of  water,  the  low  window,  and 


36  'WAY  DOWN  IN  POOR    VALLEY 

casting  upon  the  wall  a  grotesque  shadow  of 
Jube's  dodging  figure  as  he  began  to  ply  the 
bellows. 

Presently  he  left  off,  the  panting  roar 
ceased,  the  hot  iron  was  laid  on  the  anvil, 
and  his  dodging  image  on  the  wall  was  re 
placed  by  an  immense  shadow  of  Ike's  big 
right  arm  as  he  raised  it.  The  blows  fell 
fast ;  the  sparks  showered  about.  All  the 
air  was  ajar  with  the  resonant  clamor  of  the 
hammer,  and  the  anvil  sang  and  sang,  shrill 
and  clear.  When  the  iron  was  hammered 
cold,  Jube  broke  the  momentary  silence. 

"  I  hev  got,"  he  droned,  as  if  he  were  re 
citing  something  made  familiar  by  repetition, 
"  two  roosters,  'leven  hens,  an'  three  pullets." 

There  was  a  long  pause,  and  then  he 
chanted,  "  One  o'  the  roosters  air  a  Domi- 
nicky." 

He  walked  over  to  the  anvil  and  struck 
it  with  a  small  bit  of  metal  which  he  held 
concealed  in  his  hand. 

"I  hev  got  two  shoats,  a  bag  o'  dried 
peaches,  two  geese,  an'  I  'm  tradin'  with  mam 
fur  a  gayn-der." 


'WAY  DOWN  IN  POOR    VALLEY  37 

He  quietly  slipped  the  small  bit  of  shining 
metal  in  his  pocket. 

"  I  hev  got/'  he  droned,  waxing  very  im 
pressive,  "  a  red  heifer." 

Ike  paused  meditatively,  his  hammer  in  his 
hand.  A  new  hope  was  dawning  within  him. 
He  knew  what  was  meant  by  Jube,  who  often 
recited  the  list  of  his  possessions,  seeking  to 
rouse  enough  envy  to  induce  Ike  to  exchange 
for  the  "lay  out"  his  interest  in  a  certain 
gray  mare. 

Now  the  mare  really  belonged  to  Ike,  hav 
ing  come  to  him  from  his  paternal  grand 
father.  This  was  all  of  value  that  the  old 
man  had  left ;  for  the  deserted  log  hut,  rot 
ting  on  another  bleak  waste  farther  down  in 
Poor  Valley,  was  worth  only  a  sigh  for  the 
home  that  it  once  was,  —  worth,  too,  perhaps, 
the  thanks  of  those  it  sheltered  now,  the  rat 
and  the  owl. 

The  mare  had  worked  for  Pearce  Tallam  in 
the  plough,  under  the  saddle,  and  in  the 
wagon  all  the  years  since.  But  one  day, 
when  the  boy  fell  into  a  rage, —  for  he,  too, 


38  'WAY  DOWN  IN  POOR   VALLEY 

had  a  difficult  temper,  —  and  declared  that 
he  would  sell  her  and  go  forth  from  Poor 
Valley  never  to  return,  he  was  met  by  the 
question,  "  Hain't  the  mare  lived  off  n  my 
fields,  an'  hain't  I  gin  ye  yer  grub,  an'  clothes, 
an'  the  roof  that  kivers  ye  ?  " 

Thus  Pearce  Tallam  had  disputed  his  right 
to  sell  the  mare.  But  it  had  more  than  once 
occurred  to  him  that  the  blacksmith  would 
not  object  to  Jube's  buying  her. 

Hitherto  Ike  had  not  coveted  Jube's  varie 
gated  possessions.  But  now  he  wanted  money 
for  schooling.  It  was  true  he  could  hardly 
turn  these  into  cash,  for  in  this  region  farm 
produce  of  every  description  is  received  at 
the  country  stores  in  exchange  for  powder, 
salt,  and  similar  necessities,  and  thus  there  is 
little  need  for  money,  and  very  little  is  in 
circulation. 

Still,  Ike  reflected  that  he  might  now  and 
then  get  a  small  sum  at  the  store,  or  perhaps 
the  schoolmaster  might  barter  "  1'arnin'  "  for 
the  heifer  or  the  shoats. 

His  hesitation  was  not  lost  upon  Jube,  who 


'WAY  DOWN  IN  POOR    VALLEY  39 

offered  a  culminating  inducement  to  clinch 
the  trade.  He  suddenly  stood  erect,  teetered 
fantastically  on  one  foot,  as  if  about  to  begin 
to  dance,  and  held  out  a  glittering  silver 
dollar. 

The  hammer  fell  from  Ike's  hands  upon 
the  anvil.  "  'T  war  ye  ez  Grig  Beemy  war 
a-waitin'  fur  thar  on  the  mounting  in  the 
mist ! "  he  cried  out,  recognizing  the  man's 
odd  gesture,  which  Jube  had  unconsciously 
imitated. 

Doubtless  the  dollar  was  offered  to  Jube 
afterward,  exactly  as  it  had  been  offered  to 
him.  And  Jube  had  taken  it.  The  imitative 
monkey  thrust  it  hastily  into  his  pocket,  and 
came  down  from  his  fantastic  toe,  and  stood 
soberly  enough  on  his  two  feet. 

"  Grig  Beemy  gin  ye  that  thar  dollar," 
said  Ike. 

Jube  sullenly  denied  it.    "  He  never,  now !  " 

"  His  critter  hev  got  no  call  ter  be  in  dad's 
barn." 

"  His  critter  ain't  hyar,"  protested  Jube. 
"  This  dollar  war  gin  me  in  trade  ter  the 
settlemwtf." 


40  'WAY  DOWN  IN  POOR   VALLEY 

Ike  remembered  the  queer  gesture.  How 
could  Jube  have  repeated  it  if  he  had  not 
seen  it  ?  He  broke  into  a  sarcastic  laugh. 

"  That 's  how  kern  ye  war  so  powerful 
'commodatin'  ez  ter  feed  the  critters.  Ye 
'lowed  ez  I  would  n't  see  the  strange  beastis, 
an'  then  tell  dad.  Foolin'  me  war  a  part  o' 
yer  trade,  I  reckon." 

Jube  made  no  reply. 

"  Ef  ye  war  ez  big  ez  me,  or  bigger,  I  'd 
thrash  ye  out'n  yer  boots  fur  this  trick.  Ye 
don't  want  no  lenks  ter  yer  chain.  Ye  jes' 
want  ter  be  sure  o'  keepin'  me  out'n  the 
barn.  Waal  —  thar  air  yer  lenks." 

He  caught  up  the  tongs  and  held  the  links 
in  the  fire  with  one  hand  while  he  worked  the 
bellows  with  the  other.  Then  he  laid  them 
red-hot  upon  the  anvil.  His  rapid  blows 
crushed  them  to  a  shapeless  mass.  "And 
now  —  thar  they  ain't." 

Jube  did  not  linger  long.  He  was  in 
terror  lest  Ike  should  tell  his  father.  But 
Ike  did  not  think  this  was  his  duty.  In  fact, 
neither  boy  imagined  that  the  affair  involved 


'WAY  DOWN  IN  POOR    VALLEY          41 

anything  more  serious  than  stabling  a  horse 
without  the  knowledge  of  the  owner  of  the 
shelter. 

When  Ike  was  alone  a  little  later,  an  unac 
customed  sound  caused  him  to  glance  toward 
the  window. 

Something  outside  was  passing  it.  His 
position  was  such  that  he  could  not  see  the 
object  itself,  but  upon  the  perpendicular  gray 
wall  of  the  crag  close  at  hand,  and  distinctly 
defined  in  the  yellow  flare  that  flickered  out 
through  the  window  from  the  fire  of  the 
forge,  the  gigantic  shadow  of  a  horse's  head 
glided  by. 

He  understood  in  an  instant  that  Jube  had 
slipped  the  animal  out  of  the  barn,  and  was 
hiding  him  in  the  misty  woods,  expecting 
that  Ike  would  acquaint  his  father  with  the 
facts.  He  had  so  managed  that  these  facts 
would  seem  lies,  if  Pearce  Tallam  should  ex 
amine  the  premises  and  find  no  horse  there. 

All  the  next  day  the  white  mist  clung 
shroud-like  to  Poor  Valley.  The  shadows  of 
evening  were  sifting  through  it,  when  Ike's 


42  'WAY  DOWN  IN  POOR   VALLEY 

mother  went  to  the  shop,  much  perturbed 
because  the  cow  had  not  come,  and  she  could 
not  find  Jube  to  send  after  her. 

"  Ike  kin  go,  I  reckon/'  said  the  black 
smith. 

So  Ike  mounted  his  mare  and  set  out 
through  the  thick  white  vapor.  He  had  di 
vined  the  cause  of  Jube's  absence,  and  ex 
perienced  no  surprise  when  on  the  summit  of 
the  mountain  he  overtook  him,  riding  the 
strange  horse,  on  his  way  to  Beemy's  house. 

"I  s'pose  that  critter  air  yourn,  an'  ye 
mus'  hev  bought  him  fur  a  pound  o'  dried 
peaches,  or  sech,  up  thar  ter  the  settlemwtf," 
sneered  Ike. 

Jube  was  about  to  reply,  but  he  glanced 
back  into  the  dense  mist  with  a  changing 
expression. 

"  Hesh  up  !  "  he  said  softly.  "  What 's 
that?" 

It  was  the  regular  beat  of  horses'  hoofs, 
coming  at  a  fair  pace  along  the  road  on  the 
summit  of  the  mountain.  The  riders  were 
talking  excitedly. 


'WAY  DOWN  IN  POOR   VALLEY          43 

"  I  tell  ye,  ef  I  could  git  a  glimpse  o'  the 
man  ez  stole  that  thar  horse,  it  would  go 
powerful  hard  with  me  not  to  let  daylight 
through  him.  I  brung  this  hyar  shootin'- 
iron  along  o'  purpose.  Waal,  waal,  though, 
seein'  ez  ye  air  the  sheriff,  I  '11  hev  ter  leave 
it  be  ez  you-uns  say.  I  would  n't  know  the 
man  from  Adam ;  but  ye  can't  miss  the  crit 
ter, —  big  chestnut,  with  a  star  in  his  fore- 
head,  an'"  — 

Something  strange  had  happened.  At  the 
sound  of  the  voice  the  horse  pricked  up  his 
ears,  turned  short  round  in  the  road,  and 
neighed  joyfully. 

The  boys  looked  at  each  other  with  white 
faces.  They  understood  at  last.  Jube  was 
mounted  on  a  stolen  horse  within  a  hundred 
yards  of  the  pursuing  owner  and  the  officers 
of  the  law.  Could  explanations  —  words,  mere 
words  —  clear  him  in  the  teeth  of  this  fact  ? 

"  Drap  out'n  the  saddle,  turn  the  critter 
loose  in  the  road,  an'  take  ter  the  woods," 
urged  Ike. 

"They'll  sarch  an'  ketch  me,"  quavered 
Jube. 


44  'WAY  DOWN  IN  POOR    VALLEY 

He  was  frantic  at  the  idea  of  being  cap 
tured  on  the  horse's  back,  but  if  it  should 
come  to  a  race,  he  preferred  trusting  to  the 
chestnut's  four  legs  rather  than  to  his  own 
two. 

Ike  hesitated.  Jube  had  brought  the  diffi 
culty  all  on  himself,  and  surely  it  was  not 
incumbent  on  Ike  to  share  the  danger.  But 
he  was  swayed  by  a  sudden  uncontrollable 
impulse. 

"  Drap  off'n  the  critter,  turn  him  loose,  an' 
I  '11  lope  down  the  road  a  piece,  an'  they  '11 
f oiler  me,  in  the  mist." 

He  might  have  done  a  wiser  thing.  But  it 
was  a  tough  problem  at  best,  and  he  had  only 
a  moment  in  which  to  decide. 

In  that  swift,  confused  second  he  saw  Jube 
slide  from  the  saddle  and  disappear  in  the 
mist  as  if  he  had  been  caught  up  in  the 
clouds.  He  heard  the  horse's  hoofs  striking 
against  the  stones  as  he  trotted  off,  whinny 
ing,  to  meet  his  master.  There  was  a  mo 
mentary  clamor  among  the  men,  and  then 
with  whip  and  spur  they  pressed  on  to  cap 
ture  the  supposed  malefactor. 


'WAY  DOWN  IN  POOR    VALLEY          45 

CHAPTER  II 

All  at  once  it  occurred  to  Ike,  as  he  gal 
loped  down  the  road,  that  when  they  over 
took  him,  they  would  think  that  he  was  the 
thief,  and  that  he  had  been  leading  the  horse. 
He  had  been  so  strong  in  his  own  innocence 
that  the  possibility  that  they  might  suspect 
him  had  not  before  entered  his  mind. 

He  had  intended  only  to  divert  the  pursuit 
from  Jube,  who,  although  free  from  any  great 
wrong-doing,  was  exposed  to  the  most  seri 
ous  misconstruction.  The  knowledge  of  the 
pursuers'  revolvers  had  made  this  a  hard  thing 
to  do,  but  otherwise  he  had  not  thought  of 
himself,  nor  of  what  he  should  say  when 
overtaken. 

They  would  question  him ;  he  must  answer. 
Would  they  believe  his  story  ?  Could  he  sup 
port  it  ?  Grig  Beemy  of  course  would  deny 
it.  And  Jube  —  had  he  not  known  how 
Jube  could  lie  ?  Would  he  not  fear  that  the 
truth  might  somehow  involve  him  with  the 
horse-thief  ? 


46  'WAY  DOWN  IN  POOR    VALLEY 

Ike,  with  despair  in  his  heart,  urged  his 
mare  to  her  utmost  speed,  knowing  now  the 
danger  he  was  in  as  a  suspected  horse-thief. 
Suddenly,  from  among  his  pursuers,  a  tiny  jet 
of  flame  flared  out  into  the  dense  gray  atmos 
phere,  something  whizzed  through  the  branches 
of  the  trees  above  his  head,  and  a  sharp  report 
jarred  the  mists. 

Perhaps  the  officer  fired  into  the  air,  merely 
to  intimidate  the  supposed  criminal  and  induce 
him  to  surrender.  But  now  the  boy  could 
not  stop.  He  had  lost  control  of  the  mare. 
Frightened  beyond  measure  by  the  report  of 
the  pistol,  she  was  in  full  run. 

On  she  dashed,  down  sharp  declivities,  up 
steep  ascents,  and  then  away  and  away,  with 
a  great  burst  of  speed,  along  a  level  sandy 
stretch. 

The  black  night  was  falling  like  a  pall  upon 
the  white,  shrouded  day.  Ike  knew  less  where 
he  was  than  the  mare  did  ;  he  was  trusting  to 
her  instinct  to  carry  him  to  her  stable.  More 
than  once  the  low  branches  of  a  tree  struck 
him,  almost  tearing  him  from  the  saddle,  but 


'WAY  DOWN  IN  POOR    VALLEY          47 

he  clung  frantically  to  the  mane  of  the  fright 
ened  animal,  and  on  and  on  she  swept,  with 
the  horsemen  thundering  behind. 

He  could  hear  nothing  but  their  heavy,  con 
tinuous  tramp.  He  could  see  nothing,  until 
suddenly  a  dim,  pure  light  was  shining  in 
front  of  him,  on  his  own  level,  it  seemed.  He 
stared  at  it  with  starting  eyeballs.  It  cleft 
the  vapors,  —  they  were  falling  away  on 
either  side,  —  and  they  reflected  it  with  an 
illusive,  pearly  shimmer. 

In  another  moment  he  knew  that  he  was 
nearing  the  abrupt  precipice,  for  that  was  the 
moon,  riding  like  a  silver  boat  upon  a  sea  of 
mist,  with  a  glittering  wake  behind  it,  beyond 
the  sharply  serrated  summit  line  of  the  eastern 
hills. 

He  could  no  longer  trust  to  the  mare's  in 
stinct.  He  trusted  to  appearances  instead. 
He  sawed  away  with  all  his  might  on  the  bit, 
striving  to  wheel  her  around  in  the  road. 

She  resisted,  stumbled,  then  fell  upon  her 
knees  among  a  wild  confusion  of  rotting  logs 
and  stones  that  rolled  beneath  her,  as,  snort- 


48  'WAY  DOWN  IN  POOR    VALLEY 

ing  and  angry,  she  struggled  again  to  her 
feet.  Once  more  Ike  pulled  her  to  the  left. 

There  was  a  great  displacement  of  earth,  a 
frantic  scramble,  and  together  they  went  over 
the  cliff. 

The  descent  was  not  absolutely  sheer.  At 
the  distance  of  twelve  or  fourteen  feet  below, 
a  great  bulging  shelf  of  rock  projected.  They 
fell  upon  this.  The  boy  had  instantly  loosed 
his  hold  of  the  reins,  and  slipped  away  from 
the  prostrate  animal.  The  mare,  quieted  only 
for  a  moment  by  the  shock,  sprang  to  her 
feet,  the  stones  slipped  beneath  her,  and 
she  went  headlong  over  the  precipice  into  the 
dreary  depths  of  Poor  Valley. 

The  pursuers  heard  the  heavy  thud  when 
she  struck  the  ground  far  below.  They 
paused  at  the  verge  of  the  crag,  and  talked  in 
eager,  excited  tones.  They  did  not  see  the 
boy,  as  he  sat  cowering  close  to  the  cliff  on 
the  ledge  below. 

Ike  listened  in  great  trepidation  to  what 
they  were  saying;  he  experienced  infinite 
surprise  when  presently  one  of  them  men 
tioned  Grig  Beemy's  name. 


TOGETHER    THEY   WENT    OVER    THE    CLIFF 


'WAY  DOWN  IN  POOR    VALLEY          49 

So  they  knew  who  had  stolen  the  horse  ! 
It  was  little  consolation  to  Ike,  with  his 
mare  lying  dead  at  the  foot  of  the  cliff, 
to  reflect  that  if  he  had  had  the  courage  to 
face  the  emergency,  and  rely  upon  his  inno 
cence,  his  story  would  only  have  confirmed 
their  knowledge  of  the  facts. 

Although  the  master  of  the  horse  did  not 
know  the  thief  "from  Adam,"  Beemy  had 
been  seen  with  the  animal  and  recognized  by 
others,  who,  accompanying  the  sheriff  and 
the  owner,  had  traced  him  for  two  days 
through  many  wily  doublings  in  the  moun 
tain  fastnesses. 

They  now  concluded  to  press  on  to  Beemy's 
house.  Ike  knew  they  would  find  him  there 
waiting  for  Jube  and  the  horse.  Beemy  had 
feared  that  he  would  be  followed,  and  this 
was  the  reason  that  he  had  desired  to  rid  him 
self  of  the  animal  for  a  day  and  night,  until 
he  could  make  sure  and  feel  more  secure. 

As  the  horsemen  swept  round  the  curve, 
Ike  remembered  how  close  was  the  road  to  the 
cliff .  If  he  had  only  given  the  mare  her  head, 


50          'WAY  DOWN  IN  POOR    VALLEY 

she  would  have  carried  him  safely  around  it. 
But  there  she  lay  dead,  way  down  in  Poor 
Valley,  and  he  had  lost  all  he  owned  in  the 
world. 

Night  had  come,  and  in  the  dense  darkness 
he  did  not  dare  to  move.  Only  a  step  away 
was  the  edge  of  the  precipice,  over  which  the 
mare  had  slipped,  and  he  could  not  tell  how 
dangerous  was  the  bluff  he  must  climb  to 
regain  the  summit.  He  felt  he  must  lie  here 
till  dawn. 

He  was  badly  jarred  by  his  fall.  Time 
dragged  by  wearily,  and  his  bruises  pained 
him.  He  knew  at  length  that  all  the  world 
slept,  —  all  but  himself  and  some  distant 
ravening  wolf,  whose  fierce  howl  ever  and 
anon  set  the  mists  to  shivering  in  Poor  Valley 
where  he  prowled.  This  blood-curdling  sound 
and  his  bitter  thoughts  were  but  sorry  com 
pany. 

After  a  long  tune  he  fell  asleep.  Fortu 
nately,  he  did  not  stir.  When  he  regained 
consciousness  and  a  sense  of  danger,  he  found 
still  around  him  that  dense  white  vapor, 


'WAY  DOWN  IN  POOR    VALLEY  51 

through  which  the  pale,  drear  day  was  slowly 
dawning.  Above  his  head  was  swinging  in  the 
mist  a  cluster  of  fox-grapes,  with  the  rime 
upon  them,  and  higher  still  he  saw  a  quivering 
red  leaf. 

It  was  the  leaf  of  a  starveling  tree,  grow 
ing  out  of  a  cleft  where  there  was  so  little 
earth  that  it  seemed  to  draw  its  sustenance 
from  the  rock.  It  was  a  scraggy,  stunted 
thing,  but  it  was  well  for  him  that  it  had 
struck  root  there,  for  its  branches  brushed  the 
solid,  smooth  face  of  the  cliff,  which  he  could 
not  have  surmounted  but  for  them  and  the 
grape-vine  that  had  fallen  over  from  the  sum 
mit  and  entangled  itself  among  them. 

As  he  climbed  the  tree,  he  felt  it  quake 
over  the  abysses,  which  the  mists  still  veiled. 
He  had  a  sense  of  elation  and  achievement 
when  he  gained  the  top,  and  it  followed  him 
home.  There  it  suddenly  deserted  him. 

He  found  Pearce  Tallam  in  a  frenzy  of  rage 
at  the  discovery,  which  he  had  made  through 
Jube's  confession,  that  a  stolen  horse  had  been 
stabled  on  his  premises.  Despite  his  tyranny 


52  'WAY  DOWN  IN  POOR    VALLEY 

and  his  fierce,  rude  temper,  he  was  an  honest 
man  and  of  fair  repute.  Although  he  realized 
that  neither  boy  knew  that  the  animal  had 
been  stolen,  he  gave  Jube  a  lesson  which  he 
remembered  for  many  a  long  day,  and  Ike  also 
came  in  for  his  share  of  this  muscular  tuition. 

For  in  the  midst  of  the  criminations  and 
recriminations,  the  violent  blacksmith  caught 
up  a  horseshoe  and  flung  it  across  the  shop, 
striking  Ike  with  a  force  that  almost  stunned 
him.  He  was  a  man  in  strength,  and  it  was 
hard  for  him  not  to  return  the  blow  ;  but  he 
only  walked  out  of  the  shop,  declaring  that 
he  would  stay  for  no  more  blows. 

"  Cl'ar  out,  then  !  "  called  out  Pearce 
Tallam  after  him.  "  I  don't  keer  ef  ye  goes 
fur  good." 

He  met,  at  the  door  of  the  dwelling,  a 
plaintive  reproach  from  his  mother.  "  'Count 
o'  ye  not  tellin'  on  Jube,  he  mought  hev  been 
tuk  up  fur  a  horse-thief.  I  dunno  what  I  'd 
hev  done  'thout  him,"  she  added,  "  'long  o' 
raisin'  the  young  tur-r-keys,  an'  goslin's,  an' 
deedies,  an'  sech ;  he  hev  been  a  mighty  holp 


'WAY  DOWN  IN  POOR   VALLEY          53 

ter  me.  He  air  more  of  a  son  ter  me  than  my 
own  boy." 

She  did  not  mean  this,  but  she  had  said  it 
once  half  in  jest,  half  in  reproach,  and  then 
it  became  a  formula  of  complaint  whenever 
Ike  displeased  her. 

Now  he  was  sore  and  sensitive.  "  Take 
him  fur  yer  son,  then  !  "  he  cried.  "  I  'm 
a-goin'  out'n  Pore  Valley,  ef  I  starves  fur  it. 
I  shows  my  face  hyar  no  more." 

As  he  shouldered  his  gun  and  strode  out, 
he  noted  the  light  of  the  forge-fire  quiver 
ing  on  the  mist,  but  he  little  thought  it  was 
the  last  fire  that  Pearce  Tallam  would  ever 
kindle  there. 

He  glanced  back  again  before  the  dense 
vapor  shut  the  house  from  view.  His  mother 
was  standing  in  the  door,  with  her  baby  in 
her  arms,  looking  after  him  with  a  fright 
ened,  beseeching  face.  But  his  heart  was 
hardened  and  he  kept  on,  —  kept  on,  with 
that  deft,  even  tread  of  the  mountaineer,  who 
seems  never  to  hurry,  almost  to  loiter,  but 
gets  over  the  ground  with  surprising  rapidity. 


54          'WAY  DOWN  IN  POOR    VALLEY 

He  left  the  mists  and  desolation  of  Poor 
Valley  far  behind,  but  not  that  frightened, 
beseeching  face.  He  thought  of  it  more 
often  when  he  lay  down  under  the  shelter  of 
a  great  rock  to  sleep  than  he  did  of  the  howl 
of  the  wolf  which  he  had  heard  the  night 
before,  not  far  from  here. 

Late  the  next  afternoon  he  came  upon  the 
outskirts  of  a  village.  He  entered  it  doubt 
fully,  for  it  seemed  metropolitan  to  him, 
unaccustomed  as  he  was  to  anything  more 
imposing  than  the  cross-roads  store.  But  the 
first  sound  he  heard  reassured  him.  It  was 
the  clear,  metallic  resonance  of  an  anvil,  the 
clanking  of  a  sledge,  and  the  clinking  of  a 
hand-hammer. 

Here,  at  the  forge,  he  found  work.  It 
had  been  said  in  Poor  Valley  that  he  was 
already  as  good  a  blacksmith  even  as  Pearce 
Tallam.  He  had  great  natural  aptitude  for 
the  work,  and  considerable  experience.  But 
his  wages  only  sufficed  to  pay  for  his  food 
and  lodging.  Still,  there  was  a  prospect  for 
more,  and  he  was  content. 


9 WAY  DOWN  IN  POOR   VALLEY          55 

In  his  leisure  he  made  friends  among  those 
of  his  own  age,  who  took  him  about  the  town 
and  enjoyed  his  amazement.  He  examined 
everything  wrought  in  metal  with  such  eager 
interest,  and  was  so  outspoken  about  his 
ambition,  .that  they  dubbed  him  Tubal-cain. 

He  was  struck  dumb  with  amazement 
when,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  he  saw  a 
locomotive  gliding  along  the  rails,  with  a  glar 
ing  headlight  and  a  cloud  of  flying  sparks. 
Once,  when  it  was  motionless  on  the  track, 
they  talked  to  the  engineer,  who  explained 
"  the  workings  of  the  critter,"  as  Ike  called  it. 

The  boy  understood  so  readily  that  the 
engineer  said,  after  a  time,  "  You  're  a  likely 
feller,  for  such  a  derned  ignoramus  !  Where 
have  you  been  hid  out,  all  this  time  ?  " 

"  Way  down  in  Pore  Valley,"  said  Ike  very 
humbly. 

"  He 's  concluded  to  be  a  great  inventor," 
said  one  of  his  young  friends,  with  a  merry 
wink. 

"  He 's  a  mighty  artificer  in  iron,"  said  the 
wit  who  had  named  him  Tubal-cain. 


56          'WAY  DOWN  IN  POOR    VALLEY 

The  engineer  looked  gravely  at  Ike. 
"Why,  boy/'  he  admonished  him,  "  the  world 
has  got  a  hundred  years  the  start  of  you  ! " 

"  I  kin  ketch  up/'  Ike  declared  sturdily. 

"  There 's  something  in  grit,  I  reckon/' 
said  the  engineer.  Then  his  wonderful  loco 
motive  glided  away,  leaving  Ike  staring  after 
it  in  silent  ecstasy,  and  his  companions  dying 
with  laughter. 

He  started  out  to  overtake  the  world  at  a 
night-school,  where  his  mental  quickness  con 
trasted  oddly  with  his  slow,  stolid  demeanor. 
He  worked  hard  at  the  forge  all  day ;  but 
everybody  was  kind. 

Outside  of  Poor  Valley  life  seemed  joyous 
and  hopeful ;  progress  and  activity  were  on 
every  hand  ;  and  the  time  he  spent  here  was 
the  happiest  he  had  ever  known,  —  except 
for  the  recollection  of  that  frightened,  be 
seeching  face  which  had  looked  out  after  him 
through  the  closing  mists. 

He  wished  he  had  turned  back  for  a  word. 
He  wished  his  mother  might  know  he  was 
well  and  happy.  He  began  to  feel  that  he 


'WAY  DOWN  IN  POOR    VALLEY          57 

could  go  no  further  without  making  his 
peace  with  her.  So  one  day  he  left  his 
employer  with  the  promise  to  return  the 
following  week,  "  ef  the  Lord  spares  me  an' 
nuthin'  happens/'  as  the  cautious  rural  for 
mula  has  it,  and  set  out  for  his  home. 

The  mists  had  lifted  from  it,  but  the  snow 
had  fallen  deep.  Poor  Valley  lay  white  and 
drear  —  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  never 
before  known  how  drear  —  between  the  grim 
mountain  with  its  great  black  crags,  its 
chasms,  its  gaunt,  naked  trees,  and  the  long 
line  of  flinty  hills,  whose  stunted  pines  bent 
with  the  weight  of  the  snow. 

There  was  no  smoke  from  the  chimney  of 
the  blacksmith's  shop.  There  were  no  foot 
prints  about  the  door.  An  atmosphere 
charged  with  calamity  seemed  to  hang  over 
the  dwelling.  Somehow  he  knew  that  a 
dreadful  thing  had  happened  even  before  he 
opened  the  door  and  saw  his  mother's  mourn 
ful  white  face. 

She  sprang  up  at  the  sight  of  him  with  a 
wild,  sobbing  cry  that  was  half  grief,  half 


58  'WAY  DOWN  IN  POOR    VALLEY 

joy.  He  had  only  a  glimpse  of  the  interior, 
—  of  Jube,  looking  anxious  and  unnaturally 
grave ;  of  the  listless  children,  grouped  about 
the  fire  ;  of  the  big,  burly  blacksmith,  with  a 
strange,  deep  pallor  upon  his  face,  and  as  he 
shifted  his  position  —  why,  how  was  that  ? 

The  boy's  mother  had  thrust  him  out  of 
the  door,  and  closed  it  behind  her.  The  jar 
brought  down  from  the  low  eaves  a  few 
feathery  flakes  of  snow,  which  fell  upon  her 
hair  as  she  stood  there  with  him. 

"  Don't  say  nuthin'  'bout'n  it,"  she  im 
plored.  "He  can't  abide  ter  hear  it  spoke 
of." 

"What  ails  dad's  hand?"  he  asked,  be 
wildered. 

"  It 's  gone  !  "  she  sobbed.  "  He  war  over 
ter  the  sawmill  the  day  ye  lef  —  somehow 
'nuther  the  saw  cotched  it  —  the  doctor  tuk 
it  off." 

"  His  right  hand  !  "  cried  Ike,  appalled. 

The  blacksmith  would  never  lift  a  hammer 
again.  And  there  the  forge  stood,  silent  and 
smokeless. 


'WAY  DOWN  IN  POOR    VALLEY          59 

What  this  portended,  Ike  realized  as  he  sat 
with  them  around  the  fire.  Their  sterile 
fields  in  Poor  Valley  had  only  served  to  eke 
out  their  subsistence.  This  year  the  corn- 
crop  had  failed,  and  the  wheat  was  hardly 
better.  The  winter  had  found  them  without 
special  provision,  but  without  special  anxiety, 
for  the  anvil  had  always  amply  supplied  their 
simple  needs. 

Now  that  this  misfortune  had  befallen 
them,  who  could  say  what  was  before  them 
unless  Ike  would  remain  and  take  his  step 
father's  place  at  the  forge  ?  Ike  knew  that 
this  contingency  must  have  occurred  to  them 
as  well  as  to  him.  He  divined  it  from  the 
anxious,  furtive  glances  which  they  one  and 
all  cast  upon  him  from  time  to  time,  —  even 
Pearce  Tallam,  whose  turn  it  was  now  to  feel 
that  greatest  anguish  of  calamity,  helplessness. 

But  must  he  relinquish  his  hopes,  his 
chance  of  an  education,  that  plucky  race  for 
which  he  was  entered  to  overtake  the  world 
that  had  a  hundred  years  the  start  of  him, 
and  be  forever  a  nameless,  futureless  clod  in 
Poor  Valley  ? 


60          'WAY  DOWN  IN  POOR    VALLEY 

His  mother  had  the  son  she  had  chosen. 
And  surely  he  owed  no  duty  to  Pearce 
Tallam.  The  hand  that  was  gone  had  been 
a  hard  hand  to  him. 

He  rose  at  length.  He  put  on  his  leather 
apron.  "  Waal  —  I  mought  ez  well  g'  long 
ter  the  shop,  I  reckon/'  he  remarked  calmly. 
"  Tears  like  thar  's  time  yit  fur  a  toler'ble 
spot  o'  work  afore  dark." 

It  was  a  hard-won  victory.  Even  then  he 
experienced  a  sort  of  satisfaction  in  knowing 
that  Pearce  Tallam  must  feel  humiliated  and 
of  small  account  to  be  thus  utterly  dependent 
for  his  bread  upon  the  boy  whom  he  had 
so  persistently  maltreated.  In  his  pale  face 
Ike  saw  something  of  the  bitterness  he  had 
endured,  of  his  broken  spirit,  of  his  humbled 
pride. 

The  look  smote  upon  the  boy's  heart. 
There  was  another  inward  struggle.  Then 
he  said,  as  if  it  were  a  result  of  deep  cogi 
tation,  — 

"  Ye  '11  hev  ter  kem  over  ter  the  shop,  dad, 
wunst  in  a  while,  ter  advise  'bout  what's 


>WAY  DOWN  IN  POOR   VALLEY  61 

doin'.  'Pears  ter  me  like  mos'  folks  would 
'low  ez  a  boy  no  older 'n  me  couldn't  do 
reg'lar  blacksmithin'  'thout  some  sperienced 
body  along  fur  sense  an'  showin'." 

The  man  visibly  plucked  up  a  little.  Was 
he,  indeed,  so  useless  ?  "  That 's  a  f ac',  Ike," 
he  said  gently.  "  I  reckon  ye  kin  make  out 
toler'ble  — cornsiderin'.  But  I  '11  be  along 
ter  holp." 

After  this  Ike  realized  that  he  had  been 
working  with  something  tougher  than  iron, 
harder  than  steel,  —  his  own  unsubdued  na 
ture.  He  traced  an  analogy  from  the  forge ; 
and  he  saw  that  those  strong  forces,  the  fires 
of  conscience  and  the  coercion  of  duty,  had 
wrought  the  stubborn  metal  of  his  character 
to  a  kindly  use. 

Gradually  the  relinquishment  of  his  wild, 
vague  ambition  began  to  seem  less  bitter  to 
him  ;  for  it  might  be  that  these  were  the  few 
things  over  which  he  should  be  faithful,  — 
his  own  forge-fire  and  his  own  fiery  heart. 
And  so  he  labors  to  fulfill  his  trust. 

The  spring  never  comes  to  Poor  Valley. 


62          'WAY  DOWN  IN  POOR    VALLEY 

The  summer  is  a  cloud  of  dust.  The  autumn 
shrouds  itself  in  mist.  And  the  winter  is 
snow.  But  poverty  of  soil  need  not  imply 
poverty  of  soul.  And  a  noble  manhood  may 
nobly  exist  "  'Way  Down  in  Poor  Valley." 


A  MOUNTAIN  STORM 

"  EF  the  filly  war  bridle-wise  "  — 

"  The  filly  air  bridle-wise." 

A  sullen  pause  ensued,  and  the  two  bro 
thers  looked  angrily  at  each  other. 

The  woods  were  still ;  the  sunshine  was 
faint  and  flickering ;  the  low,  guttural  notes 
of  a  rain-crow  broke  suddenly  on  the  silence. 

Presently  Thad,  mechanically  examining  a 
bridle  which  he  held  in  his  hand,  began  again 
in  an  appealing  tone :  "  Tears  like  ter  me  ez 
the  filly  air  toler'ble  well  bruk  ter  the  saddle, 
an'  she  would  holp  me  powerful  ter  git  thar 
quicker  ter  tell  dad  'bout'n  that  thar  word  ez 
war  fetched  up  the  mounting.  They  'lowed 
ez  't  war  jes'  las'  night  ez  them  revenue  men 
raided  a  still-house,  somewhar  down  thar  in 
the  valley,  an'  busted  the  tubs,  an'  sp'iled  the 
coppers,  an'  arrested  all  the  moonshiners  ez 
war  thar.  An'  ef  they  war  ter  find  out 


64  A  MOUNTAIN  STORM 

'bout'n  this  hyar  still-house  over  yander  in 
the  gorge,  they  'd  raid  it,  too.  An'  thar  be 
dad,"  he  continued  despairingly,  "  jes'  sod 
den  with  whiskey  an'  ez  drunk  ez  a  fraish 
b'iled  owe?,  an'  he  wouldn't  hev  the  sense 
nor  the  showin'  ter  make  them  off'cers 
onderstand  ez  he  never  hed  nothin'  ter  do 
with  the  moonshiners  —  'ceptin'  ter  go  ter 
thar  still-house,  an'  git  drunk  along  o'  them. 
An'  I  dunno  whether  the  off'cers  would  set 
much  store  by  that  sayin'  ennyhow,  an'  I 
want  ter  git  dad  away  from  thar  afore  they 
kern." 

"  I  don't  believe  that  thar  word  ez  them 
men  air  a-raidin'  round  the  mountings  no 
more  'n  that !  "  and  Ben  kicked  away  a  pebble 
contemptuously. 

Thad  was  in  a  quiver  of  anxiety.  While 
Ben  indulged  his  doubts,  the  paternal  "  B'iled 
Owel "  might  at  any  moment  be  arrested  on  a 
charge  of  aiding  and  abetting  in  illicit  dis 
tilling. 

"  Ye  never  b'lieve  nothin'  till  ye  see  it  — 
ye  sateful  dunce  !  "  he  exclaimed  excitedly. 


A  MOUNTAIN  STORM  65 

Thus  began  a  fraternal  quarrel  which  nei 
ther  forgot  for  years. 

Ben  turned  scarlet.  "  Waal,  then,  jes' 
leave  my  filly  in  the  barn  whar  she  be  now ; 
ye  kin  travel  on  Shank's  mare  !  " 

Thad  started  off  up  the  steep  slope.  "  Ef 
ye  ain't  a-hankerin'  fur  me  ter  ride  that  thar 
filly,  ez  air  ez  bridle-wise  ez  ye  be,  jes'  let 's 
see  ye  kem  on,  an'  —  hender  !  " 

"  I  hopes  she  '11  fling  ye,  an'  ye  '11  git  yer 
neck  bruk,"  Ben  called  out  after  him. 

"  I  wish  enny thing  'ud  happen,  jes'  so  be 
I  mought  never  lay  eyes  on  ye  agin,"  Thad 
declared. 

As  he  glanced  over  his  shoulder,  he  saw 
that  his  brother  was  not  following,  and  when 
he  reached  the  flimsy  little  barn,  there  was 
nothing  to  prevent  him  from  carrying  out  his 
resolution. 

Nevertheless,  he  hesitated  as  he  stood  with 
the  door  in  his  hand.  A  clay-bank  filly  came 
instantly  to  it,  but  with  a  sudden  impulse  he 
closed  it  abruptly,  and  set  out  on  foot  along 
a  narrow,  brambly  path  that  wound  down  the 
mountain  side. 


66  A  MOUNTAIN  STORM 

He  had  descended  almost  to  its  base  before 
the  threatening  appearance  of  the  sky  caught 
his  attention.  A  dense  black  cloud  had 
climbed  up  from  over  the  opposite  hills,  and 
stretched  from  their  jagged  summits  to  the 
zenith.  There  it  hung  in  mid-air,  its  sombre 
shadow  falling  across  the  valley,  and  reaching 
high  up  the  craggy  slope,  where  the  boy's 
home  was  perched.  The  whole  landscape  wore 
that  strange,  still,  expectant  aspect  which 
precedes  the  bursting  of  a  storm. 

Suddenly  a  vivid  white  flash  quivered 
through  the  sky.  The  hills,  suffused  with  its 
ghastly  light,  started  up  in  bold  relief  against 
the  black  clouds ;  even  the  faint  outlines  of 
distant  ranges  that  had  disappeared  with  the 
strong  sunlight  reasserted  themselves  in  a 
pale,  illusive  fashion,  flickering  like  the  unreal 
mountains  of  a  dream  about  the  vague  hori 
zon.  A  ball  of  fire  had  coursed  through  the 
air,  striking  with  dazzling  coruscations  the  top 
of  a  towering  oak,  and  he  heard,  amidst  the 
thunder  and  its  clamorous  echo,  the  sharp 
crash  of  riving  timber. 


A  MOUNTAIN  STORM  67 

All  at  once  he  had  a  sense  of  falling,  a 
sudden  pain  shot  through  him,  darkness  de 
scended,  and  he  knew  no  more. 

When  he  gradually  regained  consciousness, 
it  seemed  that  a  long  time  had  elapsed  since 
he  was  trudging  down  the  mountain  side. 
He  could  not  imagine  where  he  was  now. 
He  put  out  his  hand  in  the  intense  darkness 
that  enveloped  him,  and  felt  the  damp  mould 
beside  him,  —  above  —  below. 

For  one  horrible  instant  he  recalled  a  sick 
ening  story  of  a  man  who  was  negligently 
buried  alive.  He  had  always  believed  that 
this  was  only  a  fireside  fiction  invented  in  the 
security  of  the  chimney  corner;  but  was  it 
to  have  a  strange  confirmation  in  his  own 
fate  ?  He  was  pierced  with  pity  for  himself, 
as  he  heard  the  despair  in  his  voice  when  he 
sent  forth  a  wild,  hoarse  cry.  What  a  cavern 
ous  echo  it  had  ! 

Again  and  again,  after  his  lips  were  closed, 
that  voice  of  anguish  rang  out,  and  then  was 
silent,  then  fitfully  sounded  once  more  on 
another  key.  He  strove  to  rise,  but  the  earth 


68  A  MOUNTAIN  STORM 

on  his  breast  resisted.  With  a  great  effort  he 
finally  burst  through  it ;  he  felt  the  clods 
tumbling  about  him ;  he  sat  upright ;  he 
rose  to  his  full  height ;  and  still  all  was 
merged  in  the  densest  darkness,  and,  when 
he  stretched  up  his  arms  as  high  as  he  could 
reach,  he  again  felt  the  damp  mould. 

The  truth  had  begun  vaguely  to  enter  his 
mind  even  before,  in  shifting  his  position,  he 
caught  sight  of  a  rift  in  the  deep  gloom,  some 
fifteen  feet  above  his  head.  Then  he  realized 
that  at  the  moment  of  the  flash  of  lightning, 
unmindful  of  his  footing,  he  had  strayed  aside 
from  the  path,  stumbled,  fallen,  and,  as  it 
chanced,  was  received  into  one  of  those  un 
suspected  apertures  in  the  ground  which  are 
common  in  all  cavernous  countries,  being 
sometimes  the  entrance  to  extensive  caves, 
and  which  are  here  denominated  "  sink-holes." 

These  cavities  were  exceedingly  frequent  in 
the  valley,  on  the  boundary  of  which  Thad 
lived,  and  his  familiarity  with  them  did  away 
for  the  moment  with  all  appreciation  of  the 
perplexity  and  difficulty  of  the  situation.  He 
laughed  aloud  triumphantly. 


A  MOUNTAIN  STORM  69 

Instantly  these  underground  chambers 
broke  forth  with  wild,  elfish  voices  that  mim 
icked  his  merriment  till  it  died  on  his  lips. 
He  preferred  utter  loneliness  to  the  vague 
sense  of  companionship  given  by  these  weird 
echoes.  Somehow  the  strangeness  of  all  that 
had  happened  to  him  had  stirred  his  imagina 
tion,  and  he  could  not  rid  himself  of  the  idea 
that  there  were  grimacing  creatures  here  with 
him,  whom  he  could  not  see,  who  would  only 
speak  when  he  spoke,  and  scoffingly  iterate 
his  tones. 

He  was  faint,  bruised,  and  exhausted.  He 
had  been  badly  stunned  by  his  fall ;  but  for 
the  soft,  shelving  earth  through  which  he  had 
crashed,  it  might  have  been  still  worse.  He 
could  scarcely  move  as  he  began  to  investigate 
his  precarious  plight.  Even  if  he  could  climb 
the  perpendicular  wall  above  his  head,  he  could 
not  thence  gain  the  aperture,  for,  as  his  eyes 
became  more  accustomed  to  the  darkness,  he 
discovered  that  the  shape  of  the  roof  was  like 
the  interior  of  a  roughly  defined  dome,  about 
the  centre  of  which  was  this  small  opening. 


70  A  MOUNTAIN  STORM 

"  An'  a  human  can't  walk  on  a  ceilin'  like 
a  fly,"  he  said  discontentedly. 

"  Can't !  "  cried  an  echo  close  at  hand. 

"  Fly  !  "  suggested  a  distant  mocker. 

Thad  closed  his  mouth  and  sat  down. 

He  had  moved  very  cautiously,  for  he  knew 
that  these  sink-holes  are  often  the  entrance  of 
extensive  caverns,  and  that  there  might  be  a 
deep  abyss  on  any  side.  He  could  do  nothing 
but  wait  and  call  out  now  and  then,  and  hope 
that  somebody  might  soon  take  the  short  cut 
through  the  woods,  and,  hearing  his  voice, 
come  to  his  relief . 

His  courage  gave  way  when  he  reflected 
that  the  river  would  rise  with  the  heavy  rain 
which  he  could  hear  steadily  splashing  through 
the  sink-hole,  and  for  a  time  all  prudent  men 
would  go  by  the  beaten  road  and  the  ford. 
No  one  would  care  to  take  the  short  cut  and 
save  three  miles'  travel  at  the  risk  of  swim 
ming  his  horse,  for  the  river  was  particularly 
deep  just  here  and  spanned  only  by  a  foot 
bridge,  except,  perhaps,  some  fugitive  from 
justice,  or  the  revenue  officers  on  their  hurried, 


A  MOUNTAIN  STORM  71 

reckless  raids.  This  reminded  him  of  the 
still-house  and  of  "  dad  "  there  yet,  imbibing 
whiskey,  and  sharing  the  danger  of  his  chosen 
cronies,  the  moonshiners. 

Ben,  at  home,  would  not  have  his  anxiety 
roused  till  midnight,  at  least,  by  his  brother's 
failure  to  return  from  the  complicated  feat 
of  decoying  the  drunkard  from  the  distillery. 
Thad  trembled  to  think  what  might  happen 
to  himself  in  the  interval.  If  the  volume  of 
water  pouring  down  through  the  sink-hole 
should  increase  to  any  considerable  extent,  he 
would  be  drowned  here  like  a  rat.  Was  he 
to  have  his  wish,  and  see  his  brother  never 
again  ? 

And  poor  Ben  !  How  his  own  cruel,  wicked 
parting  words  would  scourge  him  throughout 
his  life,  —  even  when  he  should  grow  old ! 

Thad's  eyes  filled  with  tears  of  prescient 
pity  for  his  brother's  remorse. 

"  Ef  ennything  war  ter  happen  hyar,  sure 
enough,  I  wish  he  mought  always  know  ez 
I  don't  keer  nothin'  now  'bout'n  that  thar 
sayin'  o'  his'n,"  he  thought  wistfully. 


72  A  MOUNTAIN  STORM 

He  still  heard  the  persistent  rain  splashing 
outside.  The  hollow,  unnatural  murmur  of  a 
subterranean  stream  rose  drearily.  Once  he 
sighed  heavily,  and  all  the  cavernous  voices 
echoed  his  grief. 

When  that  terrible  flash  of  lightning  came, 
Ben  was  still  on  the  slope  of  the  mountain 
where  his  brother  had  left  him.  The  next 
moment  he  heard  the  wild  whirl  of  the  gusts 
as  they  came  surging  up  the  valley.  He 
saw  the  frantic  commotion  of  the  woods  on 
distant  spurs  as  the  wind  advanced,  preceded 
by  swirling  columns  of  dust  which  carried 
myriads  of  leaves,  twigs,  and  even  great 
branches  rent  from  the  trees,  as  evidence  of 
its  force. 

Ben  turned,  and  ran  like  a  deer  up  the 
steep  ascent.  "  It  '11  blow  that  thar  barn 
spang  off'n  the  bluff,  I  'm  thinkin'  —  an'  the 
filly  —  Cobe  —  Cobe  !  "  he  cried  out  to  her 
as  he  neared  the  shanty. 

He  stopped  short,  his  eyes  distended.  The 
door  was  open.  There  was  no  hair  nor  hoof 
of  the  filly  within.  He  could  have  no  doubt 


A  MOUNTAIN  STORM  73 

that  his  brother  had  actually  taken  his  prop 
erty  for  this  errand  against  his  will. 

"  That  thar  boy  air  no  better  'n  a  low-down 
horse-thief !  "  he  declared  bitterly. 

The  gusts  struck  the  little  barn.  It  ca 
reened  this  way  and  that,  and  finally  the  flimsy 
structure  came  down  with  a  crash,  one  of  the 
boards  narrowly  missing  Ben's  head  as  it  fell. 
He  had  a  hard  time  getting  to  the  house  in 
the  teeth  of  the  wind,  but  its  violence  only 
continued  a  few  minutes,  and  when  he  was 
safe  within  doors  he  looked  out  of  the  win 
dow  at  the  silent  mists,  beginning  to  steal 
about  the  coves  and  ravines,  and  at  the  rain 
as  it  fell  in  serried  columns.  Long  after  dark 
it  still  beat  with  unabated  persistence  on  the 
roof  of  the  log  cabin,  and  splashed  and 
dripped  with  a  chilly,  cheerless  sound  from 
the  low  eaves.  Sometimes  a  drop  fell  down 
the  wide  chimney,  and  hissed  upon  the  red- 
hot  coals,  for  Ben  had  piled  on  the  logs  and 
made  a  famous  fire.  He  could  see  that  his 
mother  now  and  then  paused  to  listen  in  the 
midst  of  her  preparations  for  supper.  Once 


74  A  MOUNTAIN  STORM 

as  she  knelt  on  the  hearth,  and  deftly  inserted 
a  knife  between  the  edges  of  a  baking  corn- 
cake  and  the  hoe,  she  looked  up  suddenly  at 
Ben  without  turning  the  cake.  "  I  hearn  the 
beastis's  huff !  "  she  said. 

Ben  listened.  The  fire  roared.  The  rain 
went  moaning  down  the  valley. 

"  Ye  never  hearn  nothin',"  he  rejoined. 

Nevertheless,  she  rose  and  opened  the 
door.  The  cold  air  streamed  in.  The  fire 
light  showed  the  mists,  pressing  close  in  the 
porch,  shivering,  and  seeming  to  jostle  and 
nudge  each  other  as  they  peered  in,  curiously, 
upon  the  warm  home-scene,  and  the  smoking 
supper,  and  the  hilarious  children,  as  if  ask 
ing  of  one  another  how  they  would  like  to  be 
human  creatures,  instead  of  a  part  of  inani 
mate  nature,  or  at  best  the  elusive  spirits  of 
the  mountains. 

There  was  nothing  to  be  seen  without  but 
the  mists. 

"  Thad  tuk  the  filly,  ye  say  fur  true  ?  "  she 
asked,  recurring  to  the  subject  when  supper 
was  over. 


A  MOUNTAIN  STORM  75 

Ben  nodded.  "I  hopes  ter  conscience 
she  '11  break  his  neck/'  he  declared  cruelly. 

His  mother  took  instant  alarm.  She  turned 
and  looked  at  him  with  a  face  expressive  of 
the  keenest  anxiety.  "  Tears  like  to  me  ez 
the  only  reason  Thad  kin  be  so  late  a-gittin' 
back  air  jes'  'kase  it  air  a  toler'ble  agger vatin' 
job  a-fotchin'  of  dad  home/'  she  said,  striving 
to  reassure  herself. 

"  That  air  a  true  word  'bout'n  dad,  enny- 
how/'  Ben  assented  bitterly. 

His  old  grandfather  suddenly  lifted  up  his 
voice. 

"  This  night/'  said  the  graybeard  from  out 
the  chimney  corner,  —  "  this  night,  forty  years 
ago,  my  brother,  Ephraim  Grimes,  fell  dead  on 
this  cabin  floor,  an'  no  man  sence  kin  mark 
the  cause." 

A  pause  ensued.  The  rain  fell.  The  pal 
lid,  shuddering  mists  looked  in  at  the  window. 

"Ye  ain't  a-thinkin',"  cried  the  woman 
tremulously,  "ez  the  night  air  one  app'inted 
fur  evil?" 

The  old  man  did  not  answer. 


76  A  MOUNTAIN  STORM 

"  This  night/'  he  croaked,  leaning  over  the 
glowing  fire,  and  kindling  his  long-stemmed 
cob-pipe  by  dexterously  scooping  up  with  its 
bowl  a  live  coal,  —  "this  night,  twenty-six 
years  ago,  thar  war  eleven  sheep  o'  mine  — 
ez  war  teched  in  the  head,  or  somehows  dis 
abled  from  good  sense  —  an'  they  jumped 
off'n  the  bluff,  one  arter  the  other,  an'  fell 
haffen  way  down  the  mounting,  an'  bruk  thar 
fool  necks  'mongst  the  boulders.  They  war 
dead.  Thar  shearin's  never  kem  ter  much 
account  nuther.  'T  war  powerful  cur'ous, 
fust  an'  last." 

The  woman  made  a  gesture  of  indifference. 
"  I  ain't  a-settin'  of  store  by  critters  when  hu 
mans  is  —  is —  whar  they  ain't  hearn  from." 

But  Ben  was  susceptible  of  a  "critter" 
scare. 

"  I  hope,  now,"  he  exclaimed,  alarmed,  "  ez 
that  thar  triflin'  no-'count  Thad  Grimes  ain't 
a-goin'  ter  let  my  filly  lame  herself,  nor 
nothin',  a-travelin'  with  her  this  dark  night, 
ez  seems  ter  be  a  night  fur  things  ter  happen 
on  ennyhow.  Oh,  shucks  !  shucks  !  "  he  con- 


A  MOUNTAIN  STORM  11 

tinned  impatiently,  "  I  jes'  feels  like  thar 
ain't  no  use  o'  my  tryin'  ter  live  along." 

Three  of  the  children  who  habitually  slept 
in  the  shed-room  had  started  off  to  go  to  bed. 
As  they  opened  the  connecting  door,  there 
suddenly  resounded  a  wild  commotion  within. 
They  shrieked  with  fright,  and  banged  the 
door  against  a  strong  force  which  was  begin 
ning  to  push  from  the  other  side. 

The  old  grandfather  rose,  pale  and  agitated, 
his  pipe  falling  from  his  nerveless  clasp. 

"  This  night,"  he  said,  with  white  lips  and 
mechanical  utterance,  —  "  this  night  "  — 

"  Satan  is  in  the  shed-room  !  "  shouted  the 
three  small  boys,  as  they  held  fast  to  the 
door  with  a  strength  far  beyond  their  age  and 
weight.  Nevertheless,  they  were  hardly  able 
to  cope  with  the  strength  on  the  other  side  of 
the  door,  and  it  was  alternately  forced  slightly 
ajar,  and  then  closed  with  a  resounding  slam. 
Once,  as  the  firelight  flickered  into  the  dark 
shed-room,  the  ignorant,  superstitious  moun 
taineers  had  a  fleeting  glimpse  of  an  object 
there  which  convinced  them :  they  beheld 


78  A  MOUNTAIN  STORM 

great  gleaming,  blazing  eyes,  a  burnished 
hoof,  and  —  yes  —  a  flirting  tail. 

"  I  believe  it  is  Satan  himself  ! "  cried  Ben, 
with  awe  in  his  voice. 

In  the  wild  confusion  and  bewilderment, 
Ben  was  somehow  vaguely  aware  that  Satan 
had  often  been  in  the  shed-room  before,  —  in 
the  antechamber  of  his  own  heart.  When 
ever  this  heart  of  his  was  full  of  unkindness, 
and  hardened  against  his  brother,  although 
those  better  fraternal  instincts  which  he  kept 
repressed  and  dwarfed  might  repudiate  this 
cruelty  under  the  pretext  that  he  did  not 
really  mean  it,  still  the  great  principle  of  evil 
was  there  in  the  moral  shed-room,  clamoring 
for  entrance  at  the  inner  doors.  And  this, 
we  may  safely  say,  may  apply  to  wiser  people 
than  poor  Ben. 

In  the  midst  of  the  general  despair  and 
fright,  something  suddenly  whinnied.  At 
the  sound  the  three  small  boys  fell  in  a  limp, 
exhausted  heap  on  the  floor,  and,  as  the  door 
no  longer  offered  resistance,  the  unknown 
visitor  pranced  in :  it  was  the  filly,  snorting 


A  MOUNTAIN  STORM  79 

and  tossing  her  mane,  and  once  more  whinny 
ing  shrilly  for  her  supper. 

In  a  moment  Ben  understood  the  whole 
phenomenon.  Thad  had  left  the  barn  door 
unfastened,  and,  when  that  terrible  flash  of 
lightning  came  and  the  wind  arose,  the  fright 
ened  animal  had  instantly  fled  to  the  house 
for  safety.  She  had  doubtless  pushed  open 
the  back  door  of  the  shed-room  easily  enough, 
but  it  had  closed  behind  her,  and  she  had 
remained  there  a  supperless  prisoner. 

The  small  boys  picked  themselves  up  from 
among  the  filly's  hoofs,  with  disconnected  ex 
clamations  of  "  Wa-a-a-1,  sir !  "  while  Ben  led 
the  animal  out,  with  a  growing  impression 
that  he  would  try  to  "  live  along  "  for  a  while, 
at  all  events. 

He  had  led  Satan  out  of  the  moral  shed- 
room,  as  well.  The  reappearance  of  the  filly 
without  Thad  had  raised  a  great  anxiety 
about  his  brother's  continued  absence.  All 
at  once  he  began  to  feel  as  if  those  brutal 
wishes  of  his  were  prophetic,  —  as  if  they 
were  endowed  with  a  malignant  power,  and 


80  A  MOUNTAIN  STORM 

could  actually  pursue  poor  Thad  to  some  vio 
lent  end.  He  did  not  understand  now  how 
he  could  have  framed  the  words. 

When  a  fellow  really  likes  his  brother,  — 
and  most  fellows  do,  —  there  is  scant  use  or 
grace  or  common-sense  in  keeping  up,  from 
mere  carelessness,  or  through  an  irritable 
habit,  a  continual  bickering,  for  these  germs 
of  evil  are  possessed  of  a  marvelous  faculty 
for  growth,  and  some  day  their  gigantic  de 
formities  will  confront  you  in  deeds  of  which 
you  once  believed  yourself  incapable. 

Ben's  hands  were  trembling  as  he  folded  a 
blanket,  and  laid  it  on  the  animal's  back  to 
serve  instead  of  a  saddle. 

"  I  'm  a-goin'  ter  the  still-house  ter  see  ef 
Thad  ever  got  thar,"  he  said,  when  his  mother 
appeared  at  the  door. 

He  added,  "  I  'm  a-gittin'  sorter  skeered  ez 
su'thin'  mought  hev  happened  ter  him." 

His  grandfather  hobbled  out  into  the  little 
porch.  "  Them  roads  air  tumble  rough  fur 
that  thar  filly,  ez  ain't  fairly  broke  good  yit, 
nor  used  ter  travel,"  he  suggested. 


A  MOUNTAIN  STORM  81 

"I'd  gin  four  hunderd  fillies,  ef  I  hed 
'em,  jes'  ter  know  that  thar  boy  air  safe  an' 
sound/'  Ben  declared,  as  he  mounted. 

He  took  the  short  cut,  judging  that,  at 
the  point  where  it  crossed  the  river,  the 
stream  was  still  fordable.  When  he  heard 
his  brother's  piteous  cries  for  help,  he  quaked 
to  think  what  might  have  happened  to  Thad 
if  he  had  not  recognized  the  presence  of  Satan 
in  the  moral  shed-room,  and  summarily  ejected 
him.  The  rainfall  had  been  sufficient  to 
aggregate  considerable  water  in  the  gullies 
about  the  sink-hole,  and  these,  emptying  into 
the  cavity  and  sending  a  continuous  stream 
over  the  boy,  had  served  to  chill  him  through 
and  through,  and  he  had  a  pretty  fair  chance 
of  being  drowned,  or  dying  from  cold  and  ex 
haustion.  Ben  pressed  on  to  the  still-house  at 
the  best  speed  he  could  make,  and  such  of  the 
moonshiners  as  were  half  sober  came  out  with 
ropes  and  a  barrel,  which  they  lowered  into 
the  cavity.  Thad  managed  to  crawl  into  the 
barrel,  and,  after  several  ineffectual  attempts, 
he  was  drawn  up  through  the  sink-hole. 


82  A  MOUNTAIN  STORM 

There  was  no  formal  reconciliation  be 
tween  the  two  boys.  It  was  enough  for  Ben 
to  feel  Thad's  reluctance  to  unloose  his  eager 
clutch  upon  his  brother's  arms,  even  after  he 
had  been  lifted  out  upon  the  firm  ground. 
And  Thad  knew  that  that  complicated  sound 
in  Ben's  throat  was  a  sob,  although,  for  the 
sake  of  the  men  who  stood  by,  he  strove  to 
seem  to  be  coughing. 

"  Right  smart  of  an  idjit,  now,  ain't  ye  ?  " 
demanded  Ben,  hustling  back,  so  to  speak, 
the  tears  that  sought  to  rise  in  his  eyes. 

"  Waal,  stranger,  how 's  yer  filly  ? "  re 
torted  Thad,  laughing  in  a  gaspy  fashion. 

There  was  a  tone  of  forgiveness  in  the 
inquiry.  The  answer  caught  the  same  spirit. 

"  Middlin',  —  thanky,  —  jes'  middling"  said 
Ben. 

And  then  they  and  "  dad "  fared  home 
together  by  the  light  of  the  moonshiners' 
lantern. 


BORROWING  A  HAMMER 

ON  a  certain  bold  crag  that  juts  far  over 
a  steep  wooded  mountain  slope  a  red  light 
was  seen  one  moonless  night  in  June.  Some 
times  it  glowed  intensely  among  the  gray 
mists  which  hovered  above  the  deep  and  som 
bre  valley ;  sometimes  it  faded.  Its  life  was 
the  breath  of  the  bellows,  for  a  blacksmith's 
shop  stands  close  beside  the  road  that  rambles 
along  the  brink  of  the  mountain.  Generally 
after  sunset  the  forge  is  dark  and  silent.  So 
when  three  small  boys,  approaching  the  log 
hut  through  the  gloomy  woods,  heard  the 
clink  !  clank  !  clink  !  clank  !  of  the  hammers, 
and  the  metallic  echo  among  the  cliffs,  they 
stopped  short  in  astonishment. 

"  Thar  now  !  "  exclaimed  Abner  Ryder 
desperately  ;  "  dad  's  at  it  fur  true  !  " 

"  Mebbe  he  '11  go  away  arter  a  while,  Ab," 


84  BORROWING  A   HAMMER 

suggested  Jim  Gryce,  another  of  the  small 
boys.  "  Then  that  '11  gin  us  our  chance." 

"  Waal,  I  reckon  we  kin  stiffen  up  our 
hearts  ter  wait/'  said  Ab  resignedly. 

All  three  sat  down  on  a  log  a  short  dis 
tance  from  the  shop,  and  presently  they  be 
came  so  engrossed  in  their  talk  that  they  did 
not  notice  when  the  blacksmith,  in  the  pauses 
of  his  work,  came  to  the  door  for  a  breath  of 
air.  They  failed  to  discreetly  lower  their 
voices,  and  thus  they  had  a  listener  on  whose 
attention  they  had  not  counted. 

"  Ye  see,"  observed  Ab  in  a  high,  shrill 
pipe,  "  dad  sets  a  heap  o'  store  by  his  tools. 
But  dad,  ye  know,  air  a  mighty  slack-twisted 
man.  He  gits  his  tools  lost  "  (reprehensively), 
"  he  wastes  his  nails,  an'  then  he  'lows  ez  how 
it  war  me  ez  done  it." 

He  paused  impressively  in  virtuous  indig 
nation.  A  murmur  of  surprise  and  sympathy 
rose  from  his  companions.  Then  he  recom 
menced. 

"  Dad  air  the  crankiest  man  on  this  hyar 
mounting !  He  won't  lend  me  none  o'  his 


BORROWING  A   HAMMER  85 

tools  nowadays,  —  not  even  that  thar  leetle 
hammer  o'  his'n.  An'  I  'm  obleeged  ter  hev 
that  thar  leetle  hammer  an'  some  nails  ter  fix  a 
box  fur  them  young  squir'ls  what  we  cotched. 
So  we  '11  jes'  hev  ter  go  ter  his  shop  of  a  night 
when  he  is  away,  an'  —  an'  —  an'  borry  it !  " 

The  blacksmith,  a  tall,  powerfully  built 
man,  of  an  aspect  far  from  jocular,  leaned 
slightly  out  of  the  door,  peering  in  the  di 
rection  where  the  three  tow-headed  urchins 
waited.  Then  he  glanced  within  at  a  leather 
strap,  as  if  he  appreciated  the  appropriateness 
of  an  intimate  relation  between  these  objects. 
But  there  was  no  time  for  pleasure  now.  He 
was  back  in  his  shop  in  a  moment. 

His  next  respite  was  thus  entertained  :  — 

"  What  makes  him  work  so  of  a  night  ?  " 
asked  Jim  Gryce. 

"  Waal,"  explained  Ab  in  his  usual  high 
key,  "  he  rid  ter  the  settlemint  this  mornin' ; 
he  hev  been  a-foolin'  round  thar  all  day,  an' 
the  crap  air  jes'  a-sufferin'  fur  work  !  So  him 
an'  Uncle  Tobe  air  layin'  thar  ploughs  in  the 
shop  now,  kase  they  air  goin'  ter  run  around 


86  BORROWING  A   HAMMER 

the  corn  ter-morrer.  Working  though,  goes 
powerful  hard  with  dad  enny  time.  I  tole  old 
Bob  Peachin  that,  when  I  war  ter  the  mill  this 
evenin'.  Him  an'  the  t'other  men  thar  laffed 
mightily  at  dad.  An'  I  laffed  too  !  " 

There  was  an  angry  gleam  in  Stephen 
Ryder's  stern  black  eyes  as  he  turned  within, 
seized  the  tongs,  and  thrust  a  piece  of  iron 
among  the  coals,  while  Tobe,  who  had  been 
asleep  in  the  window  at  the  back  of  the  shop, 
rose  reluctantly  and  plied  the  bellows.  The 
heavy  panting  broke  forth  simultaneously 
with  the  red  flare  that  quivered  out  into  the 
dark  night.  Presently  it  faded  ;  the  hot  iron 
was  whisked  upon  the  anvil,  fiery  sparks 
showered  about  as  the  rapid  blows  fell,  and 
the  echoing  crags  kept  time  with  rhythmic 
beats  to  the  clanking  of  the  sledge  and  the 
clinking  of  the  hand-hammer.  The  stars, 
high  above  the  far-stretching  mountains, 
seemed  to  throb  in  unison,  until  suddenly 
the  blacksmith  dealt  a  sharp  blow  on  the 
face  of  the  anvil  as  a  signal  to  his  striker 
to  cease,  and  the  forge  was  silent. 


BORROWING  A  HAMMER  87 

As  he  leaned  against  the  jamb  of  the  door, 
mechanically  adjusting  his  leather  apron,  he 
heard  Ab's  voice  again. 

"  Old  Bob  say  he  ain't  no  'count  sca'cely. 
He  'lowed  ez  he  had  knowed  him  many  a 
year,  an'  fund  him  a  sneakin',  deceivin'  crit 


ter." 


The  blacksmith  was  erect  in  a  moment, 
every  fibre  tense. 

"  That  ain't  the  wust,"  Ab  gabbled  on. 
"  Old  Bob  say,  though 't  ain't  known  ginerally, 
ez  he  air  gin  ter  thievin'.  Old  Bob  'lowed 
ter  them  men,  hangin'  round  the  mill,  ez  he 
air  the  biggest  thief  on  the  mounting  !  " 

The  strong  man  trembled.  His  blood  rushed 
tumultuously  to  his  head,  then  seemed  to  ebb 
swiftly  away.  That  this  should  be  said  of 
him  to  the  loafers  at  the  mill !  These  consti 
tuted  his  little  world.  And  he  valued  his 
character  as  only  an  honest  man  can.  He 
was  amazed  at  the  boldness  of  the  lie.  It  had 
been  openly  spoken  in  the  presence  of  his  son. 
One  might  have  thought  the  boy  would  come 
directly  to  him.  But  there  he  sat,  glibly  re- 


88  BORROWING  A  HAMMER 

tailing  it  to  his  small  comrades  !  It  seemed 
all  so  strange  that  Stephen  Kyder  fancied 
there  was  surely  some  mistake.  In  the  next 
moment,  however,  he  was  convinced  that  they 
had  been  talking  of  him,  and  of  no  one  else. 

"  I  tole  old  Bob  ez  how  I  thought  they 
ought  n't  ter  be  so  hard  on  him,  ez  he  warn't 
thar  to  speak  for  hisself ." 

All  three  boys  giggled  weakly,  as  if  this 
were  witty. 

"  But  old  Bob  'lowed  ez  ennybody  mought 
know  him  by  his  name.  An'  then  he  told  me 
that  old  sayin' :  — 

'  Stephen,  Stephen,  so  deceiving 
That  old  Satan  can't  believe  him  ! ' " 

Here  Ben  Gryce  broke  in,  begging  the 
others  to  go  home,  and  come  to  "  borry  "  the 
hammer  next  night.  Ab  agreed  to  the  latter 
proposition,  but  still  sat  on  the  log  and  talked. 
"  Old  Bob  say,"  he  remarked  cheerfully, 
"  that  when  he  do  git  'em,  he  shakes  'em  — 
shakes  the  life  out'n  'em  !  " 

This  was  inexplicable.  Stephen  Kyder  pon 
dered  vainly  on  it  for  an  instant.  But  the 


BORROWING  A   HAMMER  89 

oft-reiterated  formula,  "  Old  Bob  say/'  caught 
his  ears,  and  he  was  absorbed  anew  in  Ab's 
discourse. 

"  Old  Bob  say  ez  my  mother  air  one  of  the 
best  women  in  this  world.  But  she  air  so  gin 
ter  humoring  every  critter  a-nigh  her,  an' 
tends  ter  'em  so  much,  an'  feeds  'em  so  high 
an'  hearty,  ez  they  jes'  gits  good  fur  nothin' 
in  this  world.  That  's  how  kem  she  air  eat 
out'n  house  an'  home  now.  Old  Bob  say  ez 
how  he  air  the  hongriest  critter !  Say  he  jes' 
despise  ter  see  him  comin'  round  of  meal 
times.  Old  Bob  say  ef  he  hev  got  enny  good 
lef '  in  him,  my  mother  will  kill  it  out  yit  with 
kindness." 

The  blacksmith  felt,  as  he  turned  back 
into  the  shop  and  roused  the  sleepy-headed 
striker,  that  within  the  hour  all  the  world 
had  changed  for  him.  These  coarse  taunts 
were  enough  to  show  in  what  estimation  he 
was  held.  And  he  had  fancied  himself,  in 
countrified  phrase,  "  respected  by  all,"  and 
had  been  proud  of  his  standing. 

So  the  bellows  began  to  sigh  and  pant  once 


90  BORROWING  A  HAMMER 

more,  and  kept  the  red  light  flaring  athwart 
the  darkness.  The  people  down  in  the  valley 
looked  up  at  it,  glowing  like  a  star  that  had 
slipped  out  of  the  sky  and  lodged  somehow 
on  the  mountain,  and  wondered  what  Ste 
phen  Kyder  could  be  about  so  late  at  night. 
When  he  left  the  shop  there  was  no  sign  of 
the  boys  who  had  ornamented  the  log  earlier 
in  the  evening.  He  walked  up  the  road  to 
his  house,  and  found  his  wife  sitting  alone 
in  the  rickety  little  porch. 

"Hev  that  thar  boy  gone  ter  bed?"  he 
asked. 

"Waal,"  she  slowly  drawled,  in  a  soft, 
placid  voice,  "  he  kem  hyar  'bout'n  haffen 
hour  ago  so  nigh  crazed  ter  go  ter  stay  all 
night  with  Jim  an'  Benny  Gryce  ez  I  hed  ter 
let  him.  Old  man  Gryce  rid  by  hyar  in  his 
wagon  on  his  way  home  from  the  settlemint. 
So  Ab  went  off  with  the  Gryce  boys  an'  thar 
gran'dad." 

Thus  the  blacksmith  concluded  his  tools 
were  not  liable  to  be  "  borrowed  "  that  night. 
He  had  a  scheme  to  insure  their  safety  for 


BORROWING  A   HAMMER  91 

the  future,  but  in  order  to  avoid  his  wife's 
remonstrances  on  Ab's  behalf,  he  told  her 
nothing  of  it,  nor  of  what  he  had  overheard. 

Early  the  next  morning  he  set  out  for  the 
mill,  intending  to  confront  "  old  Bob  "  and 
demand  retraction.  The  road  down  the  deep, 
wild  ravine  was  rugged,  and  he  jogged  along 
slowly  until  at  last  he  came  within  sight  of 
the  crazy,  weather-beaten  old  building  totter 
ing  precariously  on  the  brink  of  the  impetu 
ous  torrent  which  gashed  the  mountain  side. 
Crags  towered  above  it ;  vines  and  mosses 
clung  to  its  walls ;  it  was  a  dank,  cool,  shady 
place,  but  noisy  enough  with  the  turmoil  of 
its  primitive  machinery  and  the  loud,  hoarse 
voices  of  the  loungers  striving  to  make  them 
selves  heard  above  the  uproar.  There  were 
several  of  these  idle  mountaineers  aimlessly 
strolling  among  the  bags  of  corn  and  wheat 
that  were  piled  about.  Long,  dusty  cobwebs 
hung  from  the  rafters.  Sometimes  a  rat, 
powdered  white  with  flour  and  rendered  reck 
less  by  high  living,  raced  boldly  across  the 
floor.  The  golden  grain  poured  ceaselessly 


92  BORROWING  A  HAMMER 

through  the  hopper,  and  leaning  against  it  was 
the  miller,  a  tall,  stoop-shouldered  man  about 
forty  years  of  age,  with  a  floury  smile  lurking 
in  his  beard  and  a  twinkle  in  his  good-humored 
eyes  overhung  by  heavy,  mealy  eyebrows. 

"  Waal,  Steve,"  yelled  the  miller,  sham 
bling  forward  as  the  blacksmith  appeared  in 
the  doorway.  "  Come  'long  in.  Whar  's  yer 
grist  ?  " 

"  I  hev  got  no  grist !  "  thundered  Steve, 
sternly. 

"  Waal  —  ye  're  jes'  ez  welcome,"  said  the 
miller,  not  noticing  the  rigid  lines  of  the 
blacksmith's  face,  accented  here  and  there  by 
cinders,  nor  the  fierceness  of  the  intent  dark 
eyes. 

"  I  reckon  I  'm  powerful  welcome !  "  sneered 
Stephen  Kyder. 

The  tone  attracted  "  old  Bob's  "  attention. 
"  What  ails  ye,  Steve  ?  "  he  asked,  surprised. 

"  I  'm  a  deceivin',  sneakin'  critter  —  hey," 
shouted  the  visitor,  shaking  his  big  fist ; 
he  had  intended  to  be  calm,  but  his  long- 
repressed  fury  had  found  vent  at  last. 


BORROWING  A   HAMMER  93 

The  miller  drew  back  hastily,  astonishment 
and  fear  mingled  in  a  pallid  paste,  as  it  were, 
with  the  flour  on  his  face. 

The  six  startled  on-lookers  stood  as  if  petri 
fied. 

"  Ye  say  I'm  a  thief  !  —  a  thief !  —  a 
thief !  " 

With  the  odious  word  Ryder  made  a  frantic 
lunge  at  the  miller,  who  dodged  his  strong 
right  arm  at  the  moment  when  his  foot  struck 
against  a  bag  of  corn  lying  on  the  floor  and 
he  stumbled.  He  recovered  his  equilibrium 
instantly.  But  the  six  bystanders  had  seized 
him. 

"  Hold  him  hard,  f olkses  !  "  cried  honest 
Bob  Peachin.  "  Hold  hard  !  I  '11  tell  ye  what 
ails  him  —  though  ye  must  n't  let  on  ter  him 
—  he  air  teched  in  the  head  !  " 

He  winked  at  them  with  a  confidential  in 
tention  as  he  roared  this  out,  forgetting  in  his 
excitement  that  mental  infirmity  does  not  im 
pair  the  sense  of  hearing.  This  folly  on  his 
part  was  a  salutary  thing  for  Stephen  Ryder. 
It  calmed  him  instantly.  He  felt  that  he  had 


94  BORROWING  A  HAMMER 

need  for  caution.  A  fearful  vista  of  possibili 
ties  opened  before  him.  He  remembered  hav 
ing  seen  in  his  childhood  a  man  reputed  to  be 
suddenly  bereft  of  reason,  but  who  he  believed 
was  entirely  sane,  bound  hand  and  foot,  and 
every  word,  every  groan,  every  effort  to  free 
himself,  accounted  the  demonstration  of  a 
maniac.  This  fate  was  imminent  for  him. 
They  were  seven  to  one.  He  trembled  as  he 
felt  their  hands  pressing  upon  the  swelling 
muscles  of  his  arms.  With  an  abrupt  realiza 
tion  of  his  great  strength,  he  waited  for  a 
momentary  relaxation  of  their  clutch,  then 
with  a  mighty  wrench  he  burst  loose  from 
them,  flung  himself  upon  his  mare,  and  dashed 
off  at  full  speed. 

He  did  no  work  that  afternoon,  although 
the  corn  was  "  suffering."  He  sat  after  din 
ner  smoking  his  pipe  on  the  porch  of  his  log 
cabin,  while  he  moodily  watched  the  big 
shadow  of  the  mountain  creeping  silently 
over  the  wooded  valley  as  the  sun  got  on  the 
down  grade.  Deep  glooms  began  to  lurk 
among  the  ravines  of  the  great  ridge  opposite. 


BORROWING  A   HAMMER  95 

The  shimmering  blue  summits  in  the  distance 
were  purpling.  A  redbird,  alert,  crested,  and 
with  a  brilliant  eye,  perched  idly  on  the  vines 
about  the  porch,  having  relinquished  for  the 
day  the  job  of  teaching  a  small,  stubby  imita 
tion  of  himself  to  fly.  The  shocks  of  wheat 
in  the  bare  field  close  by  had  turned  a  rich 
red  gold  in  the  lengthening  rays  before  Ste 
phen  Kyder  realized  that  night  was  close  at 
hand. 

All  at  once  he  heard  a  discordant  noise 
which  he  knew  that  Ab  Ryder  called  "  sing 
ing,"  and  presently  the  boy  appeared  in  the 
distance,  his  mouth  stretched,  his  tattered 
hat  stuck  on  the  back  of  his  tow-head,  his 
bare  feet  dusty,  his  homespun  cotton  trousers 
rolled  up  airily  about  his  knees,  his  single  sus 
pender  supporting  the  structure.  His  father 
laughed  a  little  at  sight  of  him,  rather  sar 
donically  it  must  be  confessed,  and  saying  to 
his  wife  that  he  intended  to  go  to  the  shop 
for  a  while,  he  rose  and  strolled  off  down  the 
road. 

When  supper  was  over,  however,  Ab  was 


96  BORROWING  A   HAMMER 

immensely  relieved  to  see  that  his  father 
had  no  idea  of  continuing  his  work.  Conse 
quently  the  usual  routine  was  to  be  expected. 
Generally,  when  summoned  to  the  evening 
meal,  the  blacksmith  hastily  plunged  his  head 
in  the  barrel  of  water  used  to  temper  steel, 
thrust  off  his  leather  apron,  and  went  up  to 
the  house  without  more  ado.  He  smoked 
afterward,  and  lounged  about,  enjoying  the 
relaxation  after  his  heavy  work.  He  did  not 
go  down  to  lock  the  shop  until  bed-time, 
when  he  was  shutting  up  the  house,  the  barn, 
and  the  corn-crib  for  the  night.  In  the  inter 
val  the  shop  stood  deserted  and  open,  and  this 
fact  was  the  basis  of  Ab's  opportunity.  To 
night  there  seemed  to  be "  no  deviation  from 
this  custom.  He  ascertained  that  his  father 
was  smoking  his  pipe  on  the  porch.  Then  he 
went  down  the  road  and  sat  on  the  log  near 
the  shop  to  wait  for  the  other  boys  who  were 
to  share  the  risks  and  profits  of  borrowing  the 
hammer. 

All  was  still  —  so  still !     He  fancied  that 
he  could  hear  the  tumult  of  the  torrent  far 


BORROWING  A   HAMMER  97 

away  as  it  dashed  over  the  rocks.  A  dog 
suddenly  began  to  bark  in  the  black,  black 
valley  —  then  ceased.  He  was  vaguely  over 
awed  with  the  "  big  mountings  "  for  company 
and  the  distant  stars.  He  listened  eagerly  for 
the  first  cracking  of  brush  which  told  him  that 
the  other  boys  were  near  at  hand.  Then  all 
three  crept  along  cautiously  among  the  huge 
boles  of  the  trees,  feeling  very  mysterious  and 
important.  When  they  reached  the  rude  win 
dow,  Ab  sat  for  a  moment  on  the  sill,  peering 
into  the  intense  blackness  within. 

"  It  air  dark  thar,  fur  true,  Ab,"  said  Jim 
Gryce,  growing  faint-hearted.  "  Let  's  go 
back." 

"  Naw,  sir  !  Naw,  sir  !  "  protested  Ab  reso 
lutely.  "  I  Jm  on  the  borry !  " 

"  How  kin  we  find  that  thar  leetle  hammer 
in  sech  a  dark  place  ?  "  urged  Jim. 

"Waal,"  explained  Ab,  in  his  high  key, 
"  dad  air  mightily  welded  ter  his  cranky  no 
tions.  An'  he  always  leaves  every  tool  in  the 
same  place  edzactly  every  night.  Bound  fur 
me !  "  he  continued  in  shrill  exultation  as  he 


98  BORROWING  A  HAMMER 

slapped  his  lean  leg,  "  I  know  whar  that  thar 
leetle  hammer  air  sot  ter  roost !  " 

He  jumped  down  from  the  window  inside 
the  shop,  and  cut  a  wiry  caper. 

"  I  'm  a  man  o'  bone  and  muscle !  "  he 
bragged.  "  Kin  do  enny thing." 

The  other  boys  followed  more  quietly.  But 
they  had  only  groped  a  little  distance  when 
Jim  Gryce  set  up  a  sharp  yelp  of  pain. 

"  Shet  yer  mouth  —  ye  pop-eyed  cata 
mount  !  "  Ab  admonished  him.  "  Dad  will 
hear  an'  —  ah-h-h  !  "  His  own  words  ended 
in  a  shriek.  "  Oh,  my  ! "  vociferated  the 
"  man  of  bone  and  muscle,"  who  was  cer 
tainly,  too,  a  man  of  extraordinary  lung-power. 
"  Oh,  my  !  The  ground  is  hot  —  hot  ez  iron  ! 
They  always  tole  me  that  Satan  would  ketch 
me  —  an'  oh,  my  !  now  he  hev  done  it !  " 

He  joined  the  "  pop-eyed  catamount  "  in  a 
lively  dance  with  their  bare  feet  on  the  hot 
iron  bars  which  were  scattered  about  the 
ground  in  every  direction.  These  were  heated 
artistically,  so  that  they  might  not  really  scorch 
the  flesh,  but  would  touch  the  feelings,  and 


BORROWING  A  HAMMER  99 

perhaps  the  conscience.  As  the  third  boy's 
scream  rent  the  air,  and  told  that  he,  too, 
had  encountered  a  torrid  experience,  Ab 
Ryder  became  suddenly  aware  that  there 
was  some  one  besides  themselves  in  the  shop. 
He  could  see  nothing;  he  was  only  vaguely 
conscious  of  an  unexpected  presence,  and 
he  fancied  that  it  was  in  the  corner  by  the 
barrel  of  water. 

All  at  once  a  gruff  voice  broke  forth. 
"  I  'm  on  the  borry !  "  it  remarked  with  fierce 
facetiousness.  "I  want  ter  borry  a  boy  — 
no !  a  man  o'  bone  an'  muscle  —  fur  'bout  a 
minit  and  a  quarter  !  "  A  strong  arm  seized 
Ab  by  his  collar.  He  felt  himself  swept 
through  the  air,  soused  head  foremost  into 
the  barrel  of  water,  then  thrust  into  a  corner, 
where  he  was  thankful  to  find  there  was  no 
more  hot  iron. 

"  I  want  to  borry  another  boy  !  "  said  the 
gruff  voice.  And  the  "  pop-eyed  catamount " 
was  duly  ducked. 

"  'T  would  pleasure  me  some  ter  borry  an 
other  !  "  the  voice  declared  with  grim  humor. 


100  BORROWING  A   HAMMER 

But  Ben  was  the  youngest  and  smallest,  and 
only  led  into  mischief  by  the  others.  They 
never  knew  that  the  blacksmith  relented  when 
his  turn  came,  and  that  he  got  a  mere  sprin 
kle  in  comparison  with  their  total  immersion. 

Then  Stephen  Ryder  set  out  for  home, 
followed  by  a  dripping  procession.  "  I  '11 
Tarn  ye  ter  '  borry '  my  tools  'thout  leave  !  " 
he  vociferated  as  he  went  along. 

When  they  had  reached  the  house,  he  faced 
round  sternly  on  Ab.  "  Why  n't  ye  kem  an' 
tell  me  ez  how  the  miller  say  I  war  a  sneakin', 
deceivin'  critter,  an'  —  an'  —  an'  a  thief !  " 

His  wife  dropped  the  dish  she  was  wash 
ing,  and  it  broke  unheeded  upon  the  hearth. 
Ab  stretched  his  eyes  and  mouth  in  amaze 
ment. 

"  Old  Bob  Peachin  never  tole  me  no  sech 
word  sence  I  been  born  !  "  he  declared  flatly. 

"  Then  what  ailed  ye  ter  go  an'  tell  sech 
a  lie  ter  Gryce's  boys  las'  night  jes'  down 
thar  outside  o'  the  shop?"  Stephen  Ryder 
demanded. 

Ab  stared  at  him,  evidently  bewildered. 


BORROWING  A  HAMMER  101 

"  Ye  tole  'em/'  continued  the  blacksmith, 
striving  to  refresh  his  memory,  "  ez  Bob 
Peachin  say  ez  how  ye  mought  know  I  war 
deceivin'  by  my  bein'  named  Stephen  —  an' 
that  I  war  the  hongriest  critter  —  an'  " — 

"  'T  war  the  t-a-a-a-rrier  !  "  shouted  Ab, 
"  the  little  rat  tarrier  ez  we  war  a-talkin'  'bout. 
He  hev  been  named  Steve  these  six  year,  old 
Bob  say.  He  gimme  the  dog  yestiddy,  'kase 
I  'lowed  ez  the  rats  war  eatin'  us  out'n  house 
an'  home,  an'  my  mother  bed  fed  up  that 
old  cat  o'  our'n  till  he  won't  look  at  a  mice. 
Old  Bob  warned  me,  though,  ez  Steve,  the 
tarrier,  air  a  mighty  thief  an'  deceivin'  gin- 
erally.  Old  Bob  say  he  reckons  my  mother 
will  spile  the  dog  with  feedin'  him,  an'  kill 
out  what  little  good  he  hev  got  lef  in  him 
with  kindness.  But  I  tuk  him,  an'  brung 
him  home  ennyhow.  An'  las'  night  arter  we 
hed  got  through  talkin'  'bout  borryin'  (he 
looked  embarrassed)  the  leetle  hammer,  we  tuk 
to  talkin'  'bout  the  tarrier.  An'  yander  he  is 
now,  asleep  on  the  chil'ren's  bed ! " 

A  long  pause  ensued. 


102  BORROWING  A   HAMMER 

"  M'ria,"  said  the  blacksmith  meekly  to  his 
wife,  "  hev  ye  tuk  notice  how  the  gyarden 
truck  air  a-thrivin'  ?  Tears  like  ter  me  ez  the 
peas  air  a-fullin'  up  consider'ble." 

And  so  the  subject  changed. 

He  had  it  on  his  conscience,  however,  to 
explain  the  matter  to  the  miller.  For  the 
second  time  old  Bob  Peachin,  and  the  men 
at  the  mill,  "laffed  mightily  at  dad."  And 
when  Ab  had  recovered  sufficiently  from  the 
exhaustion  attendant  upon  borrowing  a  ham 
mer,  he  "  laffed  too." 


THE  CONSCRIPTS'   HOLLOW 

CHAPTER  I 

"  I  'M  a-goin'  ter  climb  down  ter  that  thar 
ledge,  an'  slip  round  ter  the  hollow  whar  them 
conscripts  built  thar  fire  in  the  old  war 
times." 

Nicholas  Gregory  paused  on  the  verge  of 
the  great  cliff  and  cast  a  sidelong  glance  at 
Barney  Pratt,  who  was  beating  about  among 
the  red  sumach  bushes  in  the  woods  close  at 
hand,  and  now  and  then  stooping  to  search 
the  heaps  of  pine  needles  and  dead  leaves 
where  they  had  been  blown  together  on  the 
ground. 

"  Conscripts !  "  Barney  ejaculated,  with  a 
chuckle.  "  That  's  precisely  what  them  men 
war  determinated  not  ter  be !  They  war 
a-hidin'  in  the  mountings  ter  git  shet  o'  the 
conscription." 

"  Waal,   I   don't  keer  ef  ye    names   'em 


104  THE  CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW 

6  conscripts '  or  no/'  Nicholas  retorted  loftily. 
"  That  's  what  other  folks  calls  'em.  I  'm 
goin'  down  ter  the  hollow,  whar  they  built 
thar  fire,  ter  see  ef  that  old  missin'  tur-r-key- 
hen  o'  our'n  hain't  hid  her  nest  off  'mongst 
them  dead  chunks,  an'  sech." 

"  A  tur-r-key  ain't  sech  a  powerful  fool  ez 
that,"  said  Barney,  coming  to  the  edge  of  the 
precipice  and  looking  over  at  the  ledge,  which 
ran  along  the  face  of  the  cliff  twenty  feet 
below.  "  How  'd  she  make  out  ter  f otch 
the  little  tur-r-keys  up  hyar,  when  they  war 
hatched  ?  They  'd  f aU  off'n  the  bluff." 

"  A  tur-r-key  what  hev  stole  her  nest  away 
from  the  folks  air  fool  enough  fur  enny- 
thing,"  Nicholas  declared. 

Perhaps  he  did  not  really  expect  to  find  the 
missing  fowl  in  such  an  out-of-the-way  place 
as  this,  but  being  an  adventurous  fellow,  the 
sight  of  the  crag  was  a  temptation.  He  had 
often  before  clambered  down  to  the  ledge, 
which  led  to  a  great  niche  in  the  solid  rock, 
where  one  night  during  the  war  some  men 
who  were  hiding  from  the  conscription  had 


THE  CONSCRIPTS' HOLLOW  105 

kindled  their  fire  and  cooked  their  scanty 
food.  The  charred  remnants  of  logs  were 
still  here,  but  no  one  ever  thought  about  them 
now,  except  the  two  boys,  who  regarded  them 
as  a  sort  of  curiosity. 

Sometimes  they  came  and  stared  at  them, 
and  speculated  about  them,  and  declared  to 
each  other  that  they  would  not  consider  it  a 
hardship  to  go  a-soldiering. 

Then  Nick  would  tell  Barney  of  a  wonder 
ful  day  when  he  had  driven  to  the  county 
town  in  his  uncle's  wagon.  There  was  a 
parade  of  militia  there,  and  how  grand  the 
drum  had  sounded  !  And  as  he  told  it  he 
would  shoulder  a  smoke-blackened  stick,  and 
stride  about  in  the  Conscripts'  Hollow,  and 
feel  very  brave. 

He  had  no  idea  in  those  days  how  close  at 
hand  was  the  time  when  his  own  courage 
should  be  tried. 

"  Kem  on,  Barney  !  "  he  urged.  "  Let 's 
go  down  an'  sarch  fur  the  tur-r-key." 

But  Barney  had  thrown  himself  down  upon 
the  crag  with  a  long-drawn  sigh  of  fatigue. 


106  THE   CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW 

"  Waal/'  he  replied,  in  a  drowsy  tone,  "  I 
dunno  'bout'n  that.  I  'm  sorter  banged  out, 
'kase  I  hev  had  a  powerful  hard  day's  work 
a-bilin'  sorghum  at  our  house.  I  b'lieves  I  '11 
rest  my  bones  hyar,  an'  wait  fur  ye." 

As  he  spoke,  he  rolled  up  one  of  the  coats 
which  they  had  both  thrown  off,  during  their 
search  for  the  nest  on  the  summit  of  the  cliff, 
and  slipped  it  under  his  head.  He  was  far 
the  brighter  boy  of  the  two,  but  his  sharp 
wits  seemed  to  thrive  at  the  expense  of  his 
body.  He  was  small  and  puny,  and  he  was 
easily  fatigued  in  comparison  with  big  burly 
Nick,  who  rarely  knew  such  a  sensation,  and 
prided  himself  upon  his  toughness. 

"Waal,  Barney,  surely  ye  air  the  porest 
little  shoat  on  G'liath  Mounting ! "  he  ex 
claimed  scornfully,  as  he  had  often  done 
before.  But  he  made  no  further  attempt  to 
persuade  Barney,  and  began  the  descent  alone. 

It  was  not  so  difficult  a  matter  for  a  sure 
footed  mountaineer  like  Nick  to  make  his  way 
down  to  the  ledge  as  one  might  imagine,  for 
in  a  certain  place  the  face  of  the  cliff  pre- 


THE   CONSCRIPTS'   HOLLOW  107 

sented  a  series  of  jagged  edges  and  projections 
which  afforded  him  foothold.  As  he  went 
along,  too,  he  kept  a  strong  grasp  upon  over 
hanging  vines  and  bushes  that  grew  out  from 
earth-filled  crevices. 

He  had  gone  down  only  a  short  distance 
when  he  paused  thoughtfully.  "This  hyar 
wind  air  blowin'  powerful  brief/'  he  said.  "  I 
mought  get  chilled  an'  lose  my  footin'." 

He  hardly  liked  to  give  up  the  expedition, 
but  he  was  afraid  to  continue  on  his  way  in 
the  teeth  of  the  mountain  wind,  cold  and 
strong  in  the  October  afternoon.  If  only  he 
had  his  heavy  jeans  coat  with  him ! 

"  Barney  !  "  he  called  out,  intending  to  ask 
his  friend  to  throw  it  over  to  him. 

There  was  no  answer. 

"  That  thar  Barney  hev  drapped  off  ter 
sleep  a'ready  !  "  he  exclaimed  indignantly. 

He  chanced  to  glance  upward  as  he  was 
about  to  call  again.  There  he  saw  a  coat  ly 
ing  on  the  edge  of  the  cliff,  the  dangling 
sleeve  fluttering  just  within  his  reach.  When 
he  dragged  it  down  and  discovered  that  it  was 


108  THE   CONSCRIPTS'   HOLLOW 

Barney's  instead  of  his  own,  he  was  slightly 
vexed,  but  it  certainly  did  not  seem  a  matter 
of  great  importance. 

"  That  boy  hev  got  my  coat,  an'  this  is 
his'n.  But  law  !  I  'd  ruther  squeeze  myself 
small  enough  ter  git  inter  his'n,  than  ter  hev 
ter  yell  like  a  catamount  fur  an  hour  an' 
better  ter  wake  him  up,  an'  make  him  gimme 


mine." 


He  seated  himself  on  a  narrow  projection 
of  the  crag,  and  began  to  cautiously  put  on 
his  friend's  coat.  He  had  need  to  be  care 
ful,  for  a  precarious  perch  like  this,  with  an 
unmeasured  abyss  beneath,  the  far  blue  sky 
above,  the  almost  inaccessible  face  of  a  cliff 
on  one  side,  and  on  the  other  a  distant  stretch 
of  mountains,  is  not  exactly  the  kind  of  place 
in  which  one  would  prefer  to  make  a  toilet. 
Besides  the  dangers  of  his  position,  he  was 
anxious  to  do  no  damage  to  the  coat,  which 
although  loose  and  baggy  on  Barney,  was 
rather  a  close  fit  for  Nick. 

"  I  ain't  used  ter  climbin'  with  a  coat  on, 
nohow,  an'  I  mus'  be  mighty  keerful  not  ter 


THE  CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW  109 

bust  Barney's,  'kase  it  air  all  the  one  he  hev 
got/'  he  said  to  himself  as  he  clambered 
nimbly  down  to  the  ledge. 

Then  he  walked  deftly  along  the  narrow 
shelf,  and  as  he  turned  abruptly  into  the  im 
mense  niche  in  the  cliff  called  the  Conscripts' 
Hollow,  he  started  back  in  sudden  bewilder 
ment.  His  heart  gave  a  bound,  and  then  it 
seemed  to  stand  still. 

He  hardly  recognized  the  familiar  place. 
There,  to  be  sure,  were  the  walls  and  the  dome 
like  roof,  but  upon  the  dusty  sandstone  floor 
were  scattered  quantities  of  household  articles, 
such  as  pots  and  pails  and  pans  and  kettles. 
There  was  a  great  array  of  brogans,  too,  and 
piles  of  blankets,  and  bolts  of  coarse  un 
bleached  cotton  and  jeans  cloth. 

"  Waal,  sir  !  "  he  exclaimed,  as  he  gazed  at 
them  with  wild,  uncomprehending  eyes. 

Then  the  truth  flashed  upon  him.  A  story 
had  reached  Goliath  Mountain  some  weeks 
before,  to  the  effect  that  a  cross-roads  store, 
some  miles  down  the  valley,  had  been  robbed. 
The  thieves  had  escaped  with  the  stolen  goods, 


110  THE   CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW 

leaving  no  clue  by  which  they  might  be 
identified  and  brought  to  justice. 

Nick  saw  that  he  had  made  a  discovery. 
Here  it  was  that  the  robbers  had  contrived  to 
conceal  their  plunder,  doubtless  intending  to 
wait  until  suspicion  lulled,  when  they  could 
carry  it  to  some  distant  place,  where  it  could 
safely  be  sold. 

Suddenly  a  thought  struck  him  that  sent  a 
shiver  through  every  fibre  of  his  body.  This 
store  was  robbed  in  a  singular  manner.  No 
bolt  was  broken,  —  no  door  burst  open.  There 
was  a  window,  however,  that  lacked  one  pane 
of  glass.  The  aperture  would  not  admit  a 
man's  body.  It  was  believed  that  the  bur 
glars  had  passed  a  boy  through  it,  who  had 
handed  out  the  stolen  goods. 

And  now,  Nick  foolishly  argued,  if  any  one 
should  discover  that  he  knew  where  the  plun 
der  was  hidden,  they  would  believe  that  he 
was  that  boy  who  had  robbed  the  store ! 

He  began  to  resolve  that  he  would  say  no 
thing  about  what  he  had  seen,  —  not  even  to 
Barney.  He  thought  his  safety  lay  in  his 


THE  CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW  111 

silence.  Still,  he  did  not  want  his  silence  to 
be  to  the  advantage  of  wicked  men,  so  he 
tried  to  persuade  himself  that  the  burglars 
would  soon  be  traced  and  captured  without 
the  information  which  he  knew  it  was  his  duty 
to  give.  "  Ter  be  sartain,  the  officers  will 
kem  on  this  place  arter  a  while,"  he  said  medi 
tatively. 

Then  he  shook  his  head  doubtfully.  The 
crag  was  far  from  any  house,  and  except  the 
dwellers  on  Goliath  Mountain,  few  people 
knew  of  this  great  niche  in  it.  "  They  war 
sly  foxes  what  stowed  away  thar  plunder 
hyar  ! "  he  exclaimed  in  despair. 

Often,  when  Nick  had  before  stood  in  the 
Conscripts'  Hollow,  he  had  imagined  that  he 
would  make  a  good  soldier.  But  his  idea  of 
a  soldier  was  a  fine  uniform,  and  the  ra-ta-ta 
of  martial  music.  He  had  no  conception  of 
that  high  sense  of  duty  which  nerves  a  man 
to  face  danger ;  even  now  he  did  not  know 
that  he  was  a  coward  as  he  faltered  and  feared 
in  the  cause  of  right  to  encounter  suspicion. 

Courage!  —  Nick   thought  that   meant  to 


112  THE  CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW 

crack  away  at  a  bear,  if  you  were  lucky 
enough  to  have  the  chance ;  or  to  kill  a  rattle 
snake,  if  you  had  a  big  heavy  stone  close  at 
hand ;  or  to  scramble  about  among  crags  and 
precipices,  if  you  felt  certain  of  the  steadiness 
of  your  head  and  the  strength  of  your  muscles. 
But  he  did  not  realize  that  "  courage  "  could 
mean  the  nerve  to  speak  one  little  word  for 
duty's  sake. 

He  would  not  speak  the  word,  —  he  had  de 
termined  on  that,  —  for  might  they  not  think 
that  he  was  the  boy  who  had  robbed  the  store  ? 

He  was  quivering  with  excitement  when  he 
turned  and  began  to  walk  along  the  ledge 
toward  those  roughly  hewn  natural  steps  by 
which  he  had  descended.  He  knew  that  his 
agitation  rendered  his  footing  insecure.  He 
was  afraid  of  falling  into  the  depths  beneath, 
and  he  pressed  close  against  the  cliff. 

On  the  narrow  ledge,  hardly  two  yards  dis 
tant  from  the  Conscripts'  Hollow,  a  clump  of 
blackberry  bushes  was  growing  from  a  crevice 
in  the  rock.  They  had  never  before  given 
him  trouble ;  but  now,  as  he  brushed  hastily 


THE  CONSCRIPTS1  HOLLOW  113 

past,  they  seemed  to  clutch  at  him  with  their 
thorny  branches. 

As  he  tore  away  from  them  roughly,  he  did 
not  observe  that  he  had  left  a  fragment  of  his 
brown  jeans  clothing  hanging  upon  the  thorns, 
as  a  witness  to  his  presence  here  close  to  the 
Conscripts'  Hollow,  where  the  stolen  goods  lay 
hidden.  There  was  a  coarse,  dark-colored 
horn  button  attached  to  the  bit  of  brown 
jeans,  which  was  a  three-cornered  scrap  of  his 
coat.  No!  of  Barney's  coat.  And  was  it 
to  be  a  witness  against  poor  Barney,  who  had 
not  gone  near  the  Conscripts'  Hollow,  but 
was  lying  asleep  on  the  summit  of  the  crag, 
supposing  he  had  his  own  coat  under  his 
own  head? 

He  did  not  discover  his  mistake  until  some 
time  afterward,  for  when  Nick  had  slowly  and 
laboriously  climbed  up  the  steep  face  of  the 
cliff,  he  stripped  off  his  friend's  torn  coat  be 
fore  he  roused  him.  Barney  was  awakened 
by  having  his  pillow  dragged  rudely  from 
under  his  head,  and  when  at  last  he  reluc 
tantly  opened  his  eyes  on  the  hazy  yellow  sun- 


114  THE   CONSCRIPTS*  HOLLOW 

light,  and  saw  Nick  standing  near  on  the 
great  gray  crag,  he  had  no  idea  that  this 
moment  was  an  important  crisis  in  his  life. 

The  wind  was  coming  up  the  gorge  fresh 
and  free ;  the  autumnal  foliage,  swaying  in  it, 
was  like  the  flaunting  splendors  of  red  and 
gold  banners ;  the  western  ranges  had  changed 
from  blue  to  purple,  for  the  sun  was  sinking. 

"  It  's  gittin'  toler'ble  late,  Barney,"  said 
Nick.  "  Let  's  go."  He  had  on  his  own  coat 
now,  and  he  was  impatient  to  be  off. 

"  Did  ye  find  the  tur-r-key's  nest  in  the 
Conscripts'  Hollow  ? "  asked  Barney,  with  a 
lazy  yawn,  and  still  flat  on  his  back. 

"  No,"  said  Nick  curtly. 

Then  it  occurred  to  him  that  it  would  be 
safer  if  his  friend  should  think  he  had  not 
been  in  the  Hollow.  "No,"  he  reiterated, 
after  a  pause,  "  I  did  n't  go  down  ter  the 
ledge  arter  all." 

He  had  begun  to  lie,  —  where  would  it 
end? 

"Why n't  you-uns  go?"  demanded  Bar 
ney,  surprised. 


THE  CONSCRIPTS1  HOLLOW  115 

"  The  wind  war  blowin'  so  powerful  brief/' 
Nick  replied  without  a  qualm.  "  So  I  jes' 
s' arched  fur  a  while  in  the  woods  back  thar 
a  piece." 

In  a  moment  more,  Barney  rose  to  his  feet, 
picked  up  his  coat,  and  put  it  on.  He  did 
not  notice  the  torn  place,  for  the  garment 
was  old  and  worn,  and  had  many  ragged 
edges.  It  lacked,  however,  but  one  button, 
and  that  missing  button  was  attached  to  the 
triangular  bit  of  brown  jeans  that  fluttered 
on  the  thorny  bush  close  to  the  Conscripts' 
Hollow. 

All  unconscious  of  his  loss,  he  went  away 
in  the  rich  autumnal  sunset,  leaving  it  there 
as  a  witness  against  him. 

CHAPTER  II 

After  this,  Nicholas  Gregory  was  very  steady 
at  his  work  for  a  while.  He  kept  out  of  the 
woods  as  much  as  possible,  and  felt  that  he 
knew  more  already  than  was  good  for  him. 
Above  all,  he  avoided  that  big  sandstone  cliff 


116  THE   CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW 

and  the  Conscripts'  Hollow,  where  the  goods 
lay  hidden. 

He  heard  no  more  of  the  search  that  had 
been  made  for  the  burglars  and  their  booty, 
and  he  congratulated  himself  on  his  caution 
in  keeping  silent  about  what  he  had  found. 

"Now,  ef  it  hed  been  that  thar  wide- 
mouthed  Barney,  stid  o'  me,  he  'd  hev  blabbed 
fust  thing,  an'  they  'd  all  hev  thunk  ez  he  war 
the  boy  what  them  scoundrels  put  through  the 
winder  ter  steal  the  f  olkses'  truck.  They  'd 
hev  jailed  him,  I  reckon." 

He  had  begun  to  forget  his  own  part  in 
the  wrong-doing,  —  that  his  silence  was  help 
ing  to  screen  "  them  scoundrels "  from  the 
law. 

This  state  of  mind  continued  for  a  week, 
perhaps.  Then  he  fell  to  speculating  about 
the  stolen  goods.  He  wondered  whether  they 
were  all  there  yet,  or  whether  the  burglars 
had  managed  to  carry  them  away.  His  curi 
osity  grew  so  great  that  several  times  he  was 
almost  at  the  point  of  going  to  see  for  him 
self  ;  but  one  morning,  early,  when  an  oppor- 


THE   CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW  117 

tunity  to  do  so  was  suddenly  presented,  his 
courage  failed  him. 

His  mother  had  just  come  into  the  log  cabin 
from  the  hen-house  with  a  woe-begone  face. 

"  I  do  declar' !  "  she  exclaimed  solemnly, 
"  that  I  'm  surely  the  afflictedest  'oman  on 
G'liath  Mounting!  An'  them  young  fall 
tur-r-keys  air  so  spindlin'  an'  delikit  they  '11 
be  the  death  o'  me  yit !  " 

They  were  so  spindling  and  delicate  that 
they  were  the  death  of  themselves.  She  had 
just  buried  three,  and  her  heart  and  her  larder 
were  alike  an  aching  void. 

"  Three  died  ter-day,  an'  two  las'  Wednes 
day  !  "  As  she  counted  them  on  her  fingers 
she  honored  each  with  a  shake  of  the  head, 
so  mournful  that  it  might  be  accounted  an 
obituary  in  dumb  show.  "  I  hev  had  no 
sort'n  luck  with  this  tur-r-key's  brood,  an' 
the  t'other  hev  stole  her  nest  away,  an'  I 
hev  got  sech  a  mean  no-'count  set  o'  chillen 
they  can't  find  her.  Waal !  waal !  waal !  this 
comin'  winter  the  Lord  '11  be  obleeged  ter 
pervide." 


118  THE  CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW 

This  was  washing-day,  and  as  she  began  to 
scrub  away  on  the  noisy  washboard,  a  sudden 
thought  struck  her.  "  Ye  told  me  two  weeks 
ago  an'  better,  Nick,  that  ye  hed  laid  off  ter 
sarch  the  Conscripts'  Hollow ;  ye  'lowed  ye 
hed  been  everywhar  else.  Did  ye  go  thar 
fur  the  tur-r-key  ?  " 

She  faced  him  with  her  dripping  arms 
akimbo. 

Nick's  face  turned  red  as  he  answered, 
"  That  thar  tur-r-key  ain't  a-nigh  thar." 

"  What  ails  ye,  Nick  ?  thar  's  su'thin' 
wrong.  I  kin  tell  it  by  yer  looks.  Ye  never 
hed  the  grit  ter  sarch  thar,  I  '11  be  bound ;  did 
ye,  now  ?  " 

Nick  could  not  bring  himself  to  admit  hav 
ing  been  near  the  place. 

"  No,"  he  faltered,  "  I  never  sarched  thar." 

"  Ye  '11  do  it  now,  though  !  "  his  mother  de 
clared  triumphantly.  "  I  'm  af eard  ter  send 
Jacob  on  sech  a  y errand  down  the  bluffs,  kase 
he  air  so  little  he  mought  fall ;  but  he  air  big 
enough  ter  go  'long  an'  watch  ye  go  down  ter 
the  Hollow  —  else  ye  '11  kem  back  an'  say  ye 


THE   CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW  119 

hev  sarched  thar,  when  ye  ain't  been  a-nigh 
the  bluff." 

There  seemed  for  a  moment  no  escape  for 
Nick.  His  mother  was  looking  resolutely  at 
him,  and  Jacob  had  gotten  up  briskly  from 
his  seat  in  the  chimney-corner.  He  was  a 
small  tow-headed  boy  with  big  owlish  eyes, 
and  Nick  knew  from  experience  that  they 
were  very  likely  to  see  anything  he  did  not 
do.  He  must  go ;  and  then  if  at  any  time 
the  stolen  goods  should  be  discovered,  Jacob 
and  his  mother,  and  who  could  say  how  many 
besides,  would  know  that  he  had  been  to  the 
Conscripts'  Hollow,  and  must  have  seen  what 
was  hidden  there. 

In  that  case  his  silence  on  the  subject  would 
be  very  suspicious.  It  would  seem  as  if  he 
had  some  connection  with  the  burglars,  and 
for  that  reason  tried  to  conceal  the  plunder. 

He  was  saying  to  himself  that  he  would  not 
go  —  and  he  must !  How  could  he  avoid  it  ? 
As  he  glanced  uneasily  around  the  room,  his 
eyes  chanced  to  fall  on  a  little  object  lying  on 
the  edge  of  the  shelf  just  above  the  washtub. 


120  THE   CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW 

He  made  the  most  of  the  opportunity.  As  he 
slung  his  hat  upon  his  head  with  an  impatient 
gesture,  he  managed  to  brush  the  shelf  with 
it  and  knock  the  small  object  into  the  foaming 
suds  below. 

His  mother  sank  into  a  chair  with  uplifted 
hands  and  eyes. 

"  The  las'  cake  o'  hop  yeast ! "  she  cried. 
"  An'  how  air  the  bread  ter  be  raised  ?  " 

To  witness  her  despair,  one  would  think  only 
jack-screws  could  do  it. 

"  Surely  I  am  the  afflictedest  'oman  on 
G'liath  Mounting !  An'  ter-morrer  Brother 
Pete's  wife  an'  his  gals  air  a-comin',  and  I  hed 
laid  off  ter  hev  raised  bread." 

For  "  raised  bread "  is  a  great  rarity  and 
luxury  in  these  parts,  the  nimble  "  dodgers  " 
being  the  staff  of  life. 

"  I  never  went  ter  do  it,"  muttered  Nick. 

"  Waal,  ye  kin  jes'  kerry  yer  bones  down 
the  mounting  ter  Sister  Mirandy's  house,  an' 
ax  her  ter  fotch  me  a  cake  o'  her  yeast  when 
she  kerns  up  hyar  ter-day  ter  holp  me  sizin' 
yarn.  Arter  that  I  don't  keer  what  ye  does 


THE  CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW  121 

with  yerself .  Ef  ye  stays  hyar  along  o'  we- 
uns,  ye  '11  haul  the  roof  down  nex',  I  reckon. 
Tears  like  ter  me  ez  boys  an'  men-folks  air 
powerful  awk'ard,  useless  critters  ter  keep  in 
a  house  ;  they  oughter  hev  pens  outside,  I  'm 
a-thinkin'." 

She  had  forgotten  about  the  turkey,  and 
Nick  was  glad  enough  to  escape  on  these 
terms. 

It  was  not  until  after  he  had  finished  his 
errand  at  Aunt  Mirandy's  house  that  he 
chanced  to  think  again  of  the  Conscripts' 
Hollow.  As  he  was  slowly  lounging  back 
up  the  mountain,  he  paused  occasionally  on 
the  steep  slope  and  looked  up  at  the  crags 
high  on  the  summit,  which  he  could  see,  now 
and  then,  diagonally  across  a  deep  cove. 

"When  he  came  in  sight  of  the  one  which 
he  had  such  good  reason  to  remember,  he 
stopped  and  stood  gazing  fixedly  at  it  for  a 
long  time,  wondering  again  whether  the  rob 
bers  had  yet  carried  off  their  plunder  from  its 
hiding-place. 

He  was  not  too  distant   to  distinguish  the 


122  THE  CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW 

Conscripts'  Hollow,  but  from  his  standpoint, 
he  could  not  at  first  determine  where  was  the 
ledge.  He  thought  he  recognized  it  presently 
in  a  black  line  that  seemed  drawn  across  the 
massive  cliff. 

But  what  was  that  upon  it?  A  moving 
figure  !  He  gazed  at  it  spell-bound  for  a 
moment,  as  it  slowly  made  its  way  along 
toward  the  Hollow.  Then  he  wanted  to  see 
no  more  ;  he  wanted  to  know  no  more.  He 
turned  and  fled  at  full  speed  along  the  nar 
row  cow-path  among  the  bushes. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  rustle  among  them. 
Something  had  sprung  out  into  the  path  with 
a  light  bound,  and  as  he  ran,  he  heard  a  swift 
step  behind  him.  It  seemed  a  pursuing  step, 
for,  as  he  quickened  his  pace,  it  came  faster 
too.  It  was  a  longer  stride  than  his ;  it  was 
gaining  upon  him.  A  hand  with  a  grip  like 
a  vise  fell  upon  his  shoulder,  and  as  he  was 
whirled  around  and  brought  face  to  face  with 
his  pursuer,  he  glanced  up  and  recognized  the 
constable  of  the  district. 

This  was  a  tall,  muscular  man,  dressed  in 


THE  CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW  123 

brown  jeans,  and  with  a  bushy  red  beard. 
He  knew  Nick  well,  for  he,  too,  was  a  moun 
taineer. 

"  Ye  war  a-dustin'  along  toler'ble  fast, 
Nicholas  Gregory,"  he  exclaimed;  "but  no- 
thin'  on  G'liath  Mounting  kin  beat  me  a-run- 
nin'  'thout  it  air  a  deer.  Ye  '11  kem  along 
with  me  now,  and  stir  yer  stumps  powerful 
lively,  too,  kase  I  hain't  got  no  time  ter  lose." 

"  What  am  I  tuk  up  fur  ?  "  gasped  Nick. 

"  S'picious  conduc',"  replied  the  man 
curtly. 

Nick  knew  no  more  now  than  he  did  before. 
The  officer's  next  words  made  matters  plainer. 
"  Things  look  mightily  like  ye  war  set  hyar 
ter  watch  that  thar  ledge.  Ez  soon  ez  ye 
seen  our  men  a-goin'  ter  the  Conscripts'  Hol 
low  ter  sarch  fur  that  thar  stole  truck,  ye  war 
a-goin'  ter  scuttle  off  an'  gin  the  alarm  ter 
them  rascally  no-'count  burglars.  I  saw  ye 
and  yer  looks,  and  I  suspicioned  some  sech 
game.  Ye  don't  cheat  the  law  in  this  dee- 
strick  —  not  often  !  Ye  air  the  very  boy,  I 
reckon,  what  holped  ter  rob  Blenkins's  store. 


124  THE  CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW 

Whar  's  the  other  burglars  ?  Ye  'd  better 
tell !  " 

"  I  dunno  !  "  cried  Nick  tremulously.  "  I 
never  had  nothin'  ter  do  with  'em." 

"  Ye  hev  told  on  yerself,"  the  man  retorted. 
"  Why  did  ye  stand  a-gapin'  at  the  Conscripts' 
Hollow,  ef  ye  didn't  know  thar  was  suthin 
special  thar  ?  " 

Nick,  in  his  confusion,  could  invent  no 
reply,  and  he  was  afraid  to  tell  the  truth. 
He  looked  mutely  at  the  officer,  who  held  his 
arm  and  looked  down  sternly  at  him. 

"  Ye  air  a  bad  egg,  —  that 's  plain.  I  '11 
take  ye  along  whether  I  ketches  the  other 
burglars  or  no." 

They  toiled  up  the  steep  ascent  in  silence, 
and  before  very  long  were  on  the  summit 
of  the  mountain,  and  within  view  of  the  crag. 

There  on  the  great  gray  cliff,  in  the  midst 
of  the  lonely  woods,  were  several  men  whom 
Nick  had  never  before  seen.  Their  busy  fig 
ures  were  darkly  defined  against  the  hazy 
azure  of  the  distant  ranges,  and  as  they  moved 
about,  their  shadows  on  the  ground  seemed 


THE   CONSCRIPTS'   HOLLOW  125 

very  busy  too,  and  blotted  continually  the 
golden  sunshine  that  everywhere  penetrated 
the  thinning  masses  of  red  and  bronze  autumn 
foliage. 

A  wagon,  close  at  hand,  was  already  half 
full  of  the  stolen  goods,  and  a  number  of  men 
were  going  cautiously  up  and  down  the  face 
of  the  cliff,  bringing  articles,  or  passing  them 
from  one  to  another. 

"  Well,  this  is  a  tedious  job !  "  exclaimed 
the  sheriff,  John  Stebbins  by  name.  He  was 
a  quick-witted,  good-natured  man,  but  being 
active  in  temperament,  he  was  exceedingly 
impatient  of  delay.  "  How  long  did  it  take 
'em  to  get  all  those  heavy  things  down  into 
the  Conscripts'  Hollow,  —  hey,  bub  ?  "  he 
added,  appealing  to  Nick,  who  had  been 
brought  to  his  notice  by  the  constable.  It 
was  terrible  to  Nick  that  they  should  all  speak 
to  him  as  if  he  were  one  of  the  criminals. 
He  broke  out  with  wild  protestations  of  his 
innocence,  denying,  too,  that  he  had  had 
any  knowledge  of  what  was  hidden  in  the 
Conscripts'  Hollow. 


126  THE   CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW 

"  Then  what  made  ye  run,  yander  on  the 
slope,  when  ye  seen  thar  war  somebody  on  the 
ledge  ?  "  demanded  the  constable. 

Nick  had  a  sudden  inspiration.  "  Waal," 
he  faltered,  with  an  explanatory  sob,  which 
was  at  once  ludicrous  and  pathetic,  "  I  war  too 
fur  off  ter  make  out  fur  sure  what  'twar  on 
the  ledge.  'T  war  black-lookin',  an'  I  'lowed 
't  war  a  b'ar." 

All  the  men  laughed  at  this. 

"I  sot  out  ter  run  ter  Aunt  Mirandy's 
house  ter  borry  Job's  gun  ter  kem  up  hyar,  an' 
mebbe  git  a  crack  at  him,"  continued  Nick. 

"  That  does  n't  seem  unnatural,"  said  the 
sheriff.  Then  he  turned  to  the  constable. 
"  This  ain't  enough  to  justify  us  in  holding  on 
to  the  boy,  Jim,  unless  we  can  fix  that  scrap 
with  the  button  on  him.  Where  is  it?  " 

"  D'  ye  know  whose  coat  this  kem  off'n  ?  " 
asked  the  constable,  producing  a  bit  of  brown 
jeans,  with  a  dark-colored  horn  button  at 
tached  to  it.  "  How  'd  it  happen  ter  be 
stickin'  ter  them  blackberry-bushes  on  the 
ledge?" 


THE   CONSCRIPTS1  HOLLOW  127 

Nick  recognized  it  in  an  instant.  It  was 
Barney  Pratt's  button,  and  a  bit  of  Barney 
Pratt' s  coat.  But  he  knew  well  enough  that 
he  himself  must  have  torn  it  when  he  wore  it 
down  to  the  Conscripts'  Hollow. 

He  realized  that  he  should  have  at  once 
told  the  whole  truth  of  what  he  knew  about 
the  stolen  goods.  He  was  well  aware  that  he 
ought  not  to  suffer  the  suspicion  which  had 
unjustly  fallen  upon  him  to  be  unjustly  trans 
ferred  to  Barney,  who  he  knew  was  innocent. 

But  he  was  terribly  frightened,  and  fool 
ishly  cautious,  and  he  did  not  care  for  justice, 
nor  truth,  nor  friendship,  now.  His  only 
anxiety  was  to  save  himself. 

"  That  thar  piece  o'  brown  jeans  an'  that 
button  kem  off'n  Barney  Pratt's  coat.  I'd 
know  'em  anywhar,"  he  answered,  more  firmly 
than  before.  He  noted  the  fact  that  the 
searching  eyes  of  both  officers  were  fixed  upon 
his  own  coat,  which  was  good  and  whole,  and 
lacked  no  buttons.  He  had  not  even  a  twinge 
of  conscience  just  now.  In  his  meanness  and 
cowardice  his  heart  exulted,  as  he  saw  that 


128  THE  CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW 

suspicion  was  gradually  lifting  its  dark  shadow 
from  him.  He  cared  not  where  it  might  fall 
next. 

"  We  '11  have  to  let  you  slide,  I  reckon/' 
said  the  sheriff.  "  But  what  size  is  this 
Barney  Pratt  ?  " 

"He  air  a  lean,  stringy  little  chap/'  said 
Nick. 

"Is  that  so?"  said  the  sheriff.  « Well, 
this  is  a  bit  of  his  coat  and  his  button  ;  and 
they  were  found  on  the  ledge,  close  to  the 
Conscripts'  Hollow  where  the  plunder  was 
hid ;  and  he 's  a  small  fellow,  that  maybe 
could  slip  through  a  window-pane.  That 
makes  a  pretty  strong  showing  against  him. 
We  '11  go  for  Barney  Pratt !  " 

CHAPTER  III 

Barney  Pratt  expected  this  day  to  be  a 
holiday.  Very  early  in  the  morning  his  fa 
ther  and  mother  had  jolted  off  in  the  wagon 
to  attend  the  wedding  of  a  cousin,  who  lived 
ten  miles  distant  on  a  neighboring  mountain, 


THE  CONSCRIPTS1  HOLLOW  129 

and  they  had  left  him  no  harder  task  than  to 
keep  the  children  far  enough  from  the  fire, 
and  his  paralytic  grandmother  close  enough 
to  it. 

This  old  woman  was  of  benevolent  inten 
tions,  although  she  had  a  stick  with  which 
she  usually  made  her  wants  known  by  point 
ing,  and  in  her  convulsive  clutch  the  stick 
often  whirled  around  and  around  like  the 
sails  of  a  windmill,  so  that  if  Barney  chanced 
to  come  within  the  circle  it  described,  he  got 
as  hard  knocks  from  her  feeble  arm  as  he 
could  have  had  in  a  tussle  with  big  Nick 
Gregory. 

He  was  used  to  dodging  it,  and  so  were 
the  smaller  children.  Without  any  fear  of  it 
they  were  all  sitting  on  the  hearth  at  the  old 
woman's  feet,  —  Ben  and  Melissa  popping  corn 
in  the  ashes,  and  Tom  and  Andy  watching 
Barney's  deft  fingers  as  he  made  a  cornstalk 
fiddle  for  them. 

Suddenly  Barney  glanced  up  and  saw  his 
grandmother's  stick  whirling  over  his  head. 
Her  eyes  were  fastened  eagerly  upon  the 


130  THE  CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW 

window,  and  her  lips  trembled  as  she  strove 
to  speak. 

"  What  d'  ye  want,  granny  ?  "  he  asked. 

Then  at  last  it  came  out,  quick  and  sharp, 
and  in  a  convulsive  gasp,  — "  Who  air  all 
that  gang  o'  folks  a-comin'  yander  down  the 
road?" 

Barney  jumped  up,  threw  down  the  fiddle, 
and  ran  to  the  door  with  the  children  at  his 
heels.  There  was  a  quiver  of  curiosity  among 
them,  for  it  was  a  strange  thing  that  a  "gang 
o?  folks  "  should  be  coming  down  this  lonely 
mountain  road. 

They  went  outside  of  the  log  cabin  and 
stood  among  the  red  sumach  bushes  that 
clustered  about  the  door,  while  the  old  woman 
tottered  after  them  to  the  threshold,  and 
peered  at  the  crowd  from  under  her  shaking 
hand  as  she  shaded  her  eyes  from  the  sun 
light. 

Presently  a  wagon  came  up  with  eight  or 
ten  men  walking  behind  it,  or  riding  in  it  in 
the  midst  of  a  quantity  of  miscellaneous 
articles  of  which  Barney  took  no  particular 


THE  CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW  131 

notice.  As  he  went  forward,  smiling  in  a 
frank,  fearless  way,  he  recognized  a  familiar 
face  among  the  crowd.  It  was  Nick  Gregory's, 
and  Barney's  smile  broadened  into  a  grin  of 
pleasure  and  welcome. 

Then  it  was  that  Nick's  conscience  began 
to  wake  up,  and  to  lay  hold  upon  him. 

As  the  sheriff  looked  at  Barney  he  hesi 
tated.  He  balanced  himself  heavily  on  the 
wheel,  instead  of  leaping  quickly  down  as  he 
might  have  done  easily  enough,  for  he  was  a 
spare  man  and  light  on  his  feet.  Nick  over 
heard  him  speak  in  a  low  voice  to  the  consta 
ble,  who  stood  just  below. 

"  That  ain't  the  fellow,  is  it,  Jim?  " 

"  That 's  him,  percisely,"  responded  Jim 
Dow. 

"  He  don't  look  like  it,"  said  Stebbins, 
jumping  down  at  last,  but  still  speaking 
under  his  breath. 

"  Waal,  thar  ain't  no  countin'  on  boys  by 
the  outside  on  'em,"  returned  the  constable 
emphatically;  he  had  an  unruly  son  of  his 
own. 


132  THE   CONSCRIPTS'   HOLLOW 

The  sheriff  walked  up  to  Barney. 

"  You  're  Barney  Pratt,  are  you  ?  Well, 
youngster,  you  '11  come  along  with  us." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment.  Barney 
stared  at  him  in  amaze.  Not  until  he  had 
caught  sight  of  the  constable,  whom  he  knew 
in  his  official  character,  did  he  understand  the 
full  meaning  of  what  had  been  said.  He  was 
under  arrest ! 

As  he  realized  it,  everything  began  to  whirl 
before  him.  The  yellow  sunshine,  the  gor 
geously  tinted  woods,  the  blue  sky,  and  the 
silvery  mists  hovering  about  the  distant 
mountains,  were  all  confusedly  mingled  in 
his  failing  vision. 

He  looked  as  if  he  were  about  to  faint. 
But  in  a  few  minutes  he  had  partially  recov 
ered  himself. 

"  I  dunno  what  this  air  done  ter  me  fur," 
he  said  tremulously,  glancing  up  at  the  officer 
whose  hand  was  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Hain't  ye  been  doin'  nothin'  mean  lately  ?  " 
demanded  Jim  Dow  sternly. 

Barney  shook  his  head. 


THE  CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW  133 

"  Let 's  see  ef  this  won't  remind  ye/'  said 
the  constable,  producing  the  bit  of  jeans  and 
the  button. 

As  Nick  watched  Barney  turning  the  piece 
of  cloth  in  his  hand  and  examining  the  button, 
he  felt  a  terrible  pang  of  remorse.  But  he 
was  none  the  less  resolved  to  keep  the  free 
dom  from  danger  which  he  had  secured  at  the 
expense  of  his  friend.  To  explain  would  be 
merely  to  exchange  places  with  Barney,  and 
he  was  silent. 

"  This  hyar  looks  like  a  scrap  o'  my  coat," 
said  Barney,  utterly  unaware  of  the  signifi 
cance  of  his  words.  As  he  fitted  it  into  the 
jagged  edges  of  the  garment,  the  officers 
watched  the  proceeding  closely.  "  Tears  like 
ter  me  ez  it  war  jerked  right  out  thar  —  yes 
—  kase  hyar  air  the  missin'  button,  too." 

His  air  of  unconsciousness  puzzled  the 
sheriff.  "  Do  you  know  where  you  lost  this 
scrap  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Somewhars  'mongst  the  briers  in  the 
woods,  I  reckon,"  replied  Barney. 

"  No  ;  you  tore  it  on  a  blackberry  bush  on 


134  THE  CONSCRIPTS9  HOLLOW 

the  ledge  of  a  bluff ;  it  was  close  to  the  Con 
scripts'  Hollow,  where  some  burglars  have 
hidden  stolen  plunder.  I  found  the  scrap  and 
the  button  there  myself." 

Barney  felt  as  if  he  were  dreaming.  How 
should  his  coat  be  torn  on  that  ledge,  where 
he  had  not  been  since  the  cloth  was  woven ! 

The  next  words  almost  stunned  him. 

"  Ye  see,  sonny/'  said  the  constable,  "  we 
believes  ye 're  the  boy  what  helped  to  rob 
Blenkins's  store  by  gittin'  through  a  winder- 
pane  an'  handin'  out  the  stole  truck  ter  the 
t'other  burglars.  Ye  hev  helped  about  that 
thar  plunder  somehows,  —  else  this  hyar  thing 
air  a  liar  ! "  and  he  shook  the  bit  of  cloth 
significantly. 

"  We  'd  better  set  out,  Jim,"  said  Stebbins, 
turning  toward  the  wagon.  "We  '11  pass 
Blenkins's  on  the  way,  and  we  '11  stop  and 
see  if  this  chap  can  slip  through  the  window- 
pane.  If  he  can't,  it 's  a  point  in  his  favor, 
and  if  he  can,  it 's  a  point  against  him.  As 
we  go,  we  can  try  to  get  him  to  tell  who  the 
other  burglars  are." 


THE  CONSCRIPTS1  HOLLOW  135 

"  Kem  on,  bubby ;  we  can't  stand  hyar  no 
longer,  a-wastin'  the  time  an'  a-burnin'  of 
daylight/'  said  the  constable. 

Barney  seemed  to  have  lost  control  of  his 
rigid  limbs,  and  he  was  half-dragged,  half- 
lifted  into  the  wagon  by  the  two  officers. 
The  crowd  began  to  fall  back  and  disperse, 
and  he  could  see  the  group  of  "  home-folks  " 
at  the  door.  But  he  gave  only  one  glance  at 
the  little  log  cabin,  and  then  turned  his 
head  away.  It  was  a  poor  home,  but  if  it 
had  been  a  palace,  the  pang  he  felt  as  he  was 
torn  from  it  could  not  have  been  sharper. 

In  that  instant  he  saw  granny  as  she  stood 
in  the  doorway,  her  head  shaking  nervously 
and  her  stick  whirling  in  her  uncertain  grasp. 
He  knew  that  she  was  struggling  to  say 
something  for  his  comfort,  and  he  had  a 
terrible  moment  of  fear  lest  the  wagon  should 
begin  to  move  and  her  feeble  voice  be  lost  in 
the  clatter  of  the  wheels.  But  presently  her 
shrill  tones  rang  out,  "No  harm  kin  kem, 
sonny,  ter  them  ez  hev  done  no  harm.  All 
that  happens  works  tergether  fur  good,  an' 
the  will  o'  God." 


136  THE  CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW 

Little  breath  as  she  had  left,  it  had  done 
good  service  to-day,  —  it  had  brought  a  drop 
of  balm  to  the  poor  boy's  heart.  He  did  not 
look  at  her  again,  but  he  knew  that  she  was 
still  standing  in  the  doorway  among  the  clus 
tering  red  leaves,  whirling  her  stick,  and 
shaking  with  the  palsy,  but  determined  to  see 
the  last  of  him. 

And  now  the  wagon  was  rolling  off,  and  a 
piteous  wail  went  up  from  the  children,  who 
understood  nothing  except  that  Barney  was 
being  carried  away  against  his  will.  Little 
four-year-old  Melissa  —  she  always  seemed  a 
beauty  to  Barney,  with  her  yellow  hair,  and 
her  blue-checked  cotton  dress,  and  her  dimpled 
white  bare  feet  —  ran  after  the  wagon  until 
the  tears  blinded  her,  and  she  fell  in  the  road, 
and  lay  there  in  the  dust,  sobbing. 

Then  Barney  found  his  voice.  His  father 
and  mother  would  not  return  until  to-morrow, 
and  the  thought  of  what  might  happen  at 
home,  with  nobody  there  but  the  helpless  old 
grandmother  and  the  little  children,  made 
him  forget  his  own  troubles  for  the  time. 


THE  CONSCRIPTS1  HOLLOW  137 

"Take  good  keer  o'  the  t'other  chillen, 
Andy !  "^  he  shouted  out  to  the  next  oldest 
boy,  thus  making  him  a  deputy-guardian  of 
the  family,  "an'  pick  Melissy  up  out'n  the 
dust,  an'  be  sure  ye  keeps  granny's  cheer 
close  enough  ter  the  fire  !  " 

Then  he  turned  back  again.  He  could 
still  hear  Melissa  sobbing.  He  wondered 
why  the  two  men  in  the  wagon  looked  per 
sistently  in  the  opposite  direction,  and  why 
they  were  both  so  silent. 

The  children  stood  in  the  road,  watching 
the  wagon  as  long  as  they  could  see  it,  but 
Nick  had  slunk  away  into  the  woods.  He 
could  not  bear  the  sight  of  their  grief.  He 
walked  on,  hardly  knowing  where  he  went. 
He  felt  as  if  he  were  trying  to  get  rid  of 
himself .  He  appreciated  fully  now  the  con 
sequences  of  what  he  had  done.  Barney, 
innocent  Barney,  would  be  thrust  into  jail. 

He  began  to  see  that  the  most  terrible  phase 
of  moral  cowardice  is  its  capacity  to  injure 
others,  and  he  could  not  endure  the  thought 
of  what  he  had  brought  upon  his  friend. 


138  THE  CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW 

Soon  he  was  saying  to  himself  that  something 
was  sure  to  happen  to  prevent  them  from 
putting  Barney  in  prison,  —  he  should  n't  be 
surprised  if  it  were  to  happen  before  the 
wagon  could  reach  the  foot  of  the  mountain. 

In  his  despair,  he  had  flung  himself  at 
length  upon  the  rugged,  stony  ground  at  the 
base  of  a  great  crag.  "When  this  comforting 
thought  of  Barney's  release  came  upon  him, 
he  took  his  hands  from  his  face,  and  looked 
about  him.  From  certain  ledges  of  the  cliff 
above,  the  road  which  led  down  the  valley 
was  visible  at  intervals  for  some  distance. 
There  he  could  watch  the  progress  of  the 
wagon,  and  see  for  a  time  longer  what  was 
happening  to  Barney. 

There  was  a  broad  gulf  between  the  wall 
of  the  mountain  and  the  crag,  which,  from 
its  detached  position  and  its  shape,  was  known 
far  and  wide  as  the  "  Old  Man's  Chimney." 

It  loomed  up  like  a  great  stone  column,  a 
hundred  feet  above  the  wooded  slope  where 
Nick  stood,  and  its  height  could  only  be 
ascended  by  dexterous  climbing. 


THE  CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW  139 

He  went  at  it  like  a  cat.  Sometimes  he 
helped  himself  up  by  sharp  projections  of  the 
rock,  sometimes  by  slipping  his  feet  and 
hands  into  crevices,  and  sometimes  he  caught 
hold  of  a  strong  bush  here  and  there,  and 
gave  himself  a  lift.  When  he  was  about  forty 
feet  from  the  base,  he  sat  down  on  one  of  the 
ledges,  and  turning,  looked  anxiously  along 
the  red  clay  road  which  he  could  see  winding 
among  the  trees  down  the  mountain's  side. 

No  wagon  was  there. 

His  eyes  followed  the  road  further  and  fur 
ther  toward  the  foot  of  the  range,  and  then 
along  the  valley  beyond.  There,  at  least  two 
miles  distant,  was  a  small  moving  black  object, 
plainly  defined  upon  the  red  clay  of  the  road. 

Barney  was  gone  !  There  was  no  mistake 
about  it.  They  had  taken  him  away  from 
Goliath  Mountain !  He  was  innocent,  and 
Nick  knew  it,  and  Nick  had  made  him  seem 
guilty.  There  was  no  one  near  him  now  to 
speak  a  good  word  for  him,  not  even  his 
palsied  old  grandmother. 

It  all  came  back  upon  Nick  with  a  rush. 


140  THE  CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW 

His  eyes  were  blurred  with  rising  tears.  Un 
consciously,  in  his  grief,  he  made  a  movement 
forward,  and  suddenly  clutched  convulsively 
at  the  ledge. 

He  had  lost  his  balance.  There  was  a 
swift,  fantastic  whirl  of  vague  objects  before 
him,  then  a  great  light  seemed  flashing 
through  his  very  brain,  and  he  knew  that  he 
was  falling. 

He  knew  nothing  else  for  some  time.  He 
wondered  where  he  was  when  he  first  opened 
his  eyes  and  saw  the  great  stone  shaft  tower 
ing  high  above,  and  the  tops  of  the  sun-gilded 
maples  waving  about  him. 

Then  he  remembered  and  understood.  He 
had  fallen  from  that  narrow  ledge,  hardly  ten 
feet  above  his  head,  and  had  been  caught  in 
his  descent  by  the  far  broader  one  upon  which 
he  lay. 

"  It  knocked  the  senses  out'n  me  fur 
a  while,  I  reckon,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  But 
I  hev  toler'ble  luck  now,  sure  ez  shootin',  kase 
I  mought  hev  drapped  over  this  ledge,  an' 
then  I  'd  hev  been  gone  fur  sartain  sure !  " 


THE  CONSCRIPTS1  HOLLOW  141 

His  exultation  was  short-lived.  What  was 
this  limp  thing  hanging  to  his  shoulder  ?  and 
what  was  this  thrill  of  pain  darting  through 
it? 

He  looked  at  it  in  amazement.  It  was  his 
strong  right  arm  —  broken  —  helpless. 

And  here  he  was,  perched  thirty  feet  above 
the  earth,  weakened  by  his  long  faint,  sore 
and  bruised  and  unnerved  by  his  fall,  and 
with  only  his  left  arm  to  aid  him  in  making 
that  perilous  descent. 

It  was  impossible.  He  glanced  down  at 
the  sheer  walls  of  the  column  below,  shook 
his  head,  and  lay  back  on  the  ledge.  Reck 
less  as  he  was,  he  realized  that  the  attempt 
would  be  fatal. 

Then  came  a  thought  that  filled  him  with 
dismay,  —  how  long  was  this  to  last  ?  —  who 
would  rescue  him  ? 

He  knew  that  a  prolonged  absence  from 
home  would  create  no  surprise.  His  mother 
would  only  fancy  that  he  had  slipped  off,  as 
he  had  often  done,  to  go  on  a  camp-hunt  with 
some  other  boys.  She  would  not  grow  un 
easy  for  a  week,  at  least. 


142  THE  CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW 

He  was  deep  in  the  heart  of  the  forest,  dis 
tant  from  any  dwelling.  No  one,  as  far  as  he 
knew,  came  to  this  spot,  except  himself  and 
Barney,  and  their  errand  here  was  for  the 
sake  of  the  exhilaration  and  the  hazard  of 
climbing  the  crag.  It  was  so  lonely  that  on 
the  Old  Man's  Chimney  the  eagles  built  in 
stead  of  the  swallows.  His  hope  —  his  only 
hope  —  was  that  some  hunter  might  chance 
to  pass  before  he  should  die  of  hunger. 

The  shadow  of  the  great  obelisk  shifted  as 
the  day  wore  on,  and  left  him  in  the  broad, 
hot  glare  of  the  sun.  His  broken  arm  was 
fevered  and  gave  him  great  pain.  Now  and 
then  he  raised  himself  on  the  other,  and 
looked  down  wistfully  at  the  cool,  dusky 
depths  of  the  woods.  He  heard  continually 
the  impetuous  rushing  of  a  mountain  torrent 
near  at  hand ;  sometimes,  when  the  wind 
stirred  the  foliage,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
water,  rioting  from  rock  to  rock,  and  he  was 
oppressed  by  an  intolerable  thirst. 

Thus  the  hours  lagged  wearily  on. 


THE  CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW  143 

CHAPTER  IV 

When  the  wagon  was  rolling  along  the 
road  in  the  valley,  Barney  at  first  kept  his 
eyes  persistently  fastened  upon  the  craggy 
heights  and  the  red  and  gold  autumnal  woods 
of  Goliath  Mountain,  as  the  mighty  range 
stretched  across  the  plain. 

But  presently  the  two  men  began  to  talk  to 
him,  and  he  turned  around  in  order  to  face 
them.  They  were  urging  him  to  confess  his 
own  guilt  and  tell  who  were  the  other  burglars, 
and  where  they  were.  But  Barney  had  no 
thing  to  tell.  He  could  only  protest  again 
and  again  his  innocence.  The  men,  however, 
shook  their  heads  incredulously,  and  after 
a  while  they  left  him  to  himself  and  smoked 
their  pipes  in  silence. 

When  Barney  looked  back  at  the  mountains 
once  more,  a  startling  change  seemed  to  have 
been  wrought  in  the  landscape.  Instead  of 
the  frowning  sandstone  cliffs  he  loved  so  well, 
and  the  gloomy  recesses  of  the  woods,  there 
was  only  a  succession  of  lines  of  a  delicate 


144  THE  CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW 

blue  color  drawn  along  the  horizon.  This 
was  the  way  the  distant  ranges  looked  from 
the  crags  of  his  own  home ;  he  knew  that 
they  were  the  mountains,  but  which  was 
Goliath? 

Suddenly  he  struck  his  hands  together,  and 
broke  out  with  a  bitter  cry. 

"  I  hev  los'  G'liath  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  I 
dunno  whar  I  live  !  An'  whar  is  Melissy  ?  " 

A  difficult  undertaking,  certainly,  to  deter 
mine  where  among  all  those  great  spurs  and 
outliers,  stretching  so  far  on  either  hand,  was 
that  little  atom  of  dimpled  pink-and-white 
humanity  known  as  "  Melissy." 

The  constable,  being  a  native  of  these  hills 
himself,  knew  something  by  experience  of  the 
homesickness  of  an  exiled  mountaineer,  —  far 
more  terrible  than  the  homesickness  of  low- 
landers  ;  he  took  his  pipe  promptly  from  be 
tween  his  lips,  and  told  the  boy  that  the  second 
blue  ridge,  counting  down  from  the  sky,  was 
"  G'liath  Mounting,"  and  that  "  Melissy  war 
right  thar  somewhar." 

Barney  looked  back  at  it  with  unrecogniz- 


THE   CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW  145 

ing  eyes,  —  this  gentle,  misty,  blue  vagueness 
was  not  the  solemn,  sombre  mountain  that  he 
knew.  He  gazed  at  it  only  for  a  moment 
longer ;  then  his  heart  swelled  and  he  burst 
into  tears. 

On  and  on  they  went  through  the  flat 
country.  The  boy  felt  that  he  could  scarcely 
breathe.  Even  tourists,  coming  down  from 
these  mountains  to  the  valley  below,  struggle 
with  a  sense  of  suffocation  and  oppression ; 
how  must  it  have  been  then  with  this  half- 
wild  creature,  born  and  bred  on  those  breezy 
heights ! 

The  stout  mules  did  their  duty  well,  and  it 
was  not  long  before  they  were  in  sight  of  the 
cross-roads  store  that  had  been  robbed.  It 
was  a  part  of  a  small  frame  dwelling-house, 
set  in  the  midst  of  the  yellow  sunlight  that 
brooded  over  the  plain.  Ah1  the  world  around 
it  seemed  to  the  young  backwoodsman  to  be 
a  big  cornfield  ;  but  there  was  a  garden  close 
at  hand,  and  tall  sunflowers  looked  over  the 
fence  and  seemed  to  nod  knowingly  at  Bar 
ney,  as  much  as  to  say  they  had  always  sus- 


146  THE  CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW 

pected  him  of  being  one  of  the  burglars, 
and  were  gratified  that  he  had  been  caught 
at  last. 

Poor  fellow !  he  saw  so  much  suspicion 
expressed  in  the  faces  of  a  crowd  of  men 
congregating  about  the  store,  that  it  was  no 
wonder  he  fancied  he  detected  it  too  in  inani 
mate  objects. 

Of  all  the  group  only  one  seemed  to  doubt 
his  guilt.  He  overheard  Blenkins,  the  mer 
chant,  say  to  Jim  Dow,  — 

"  It  's  mighty  hard  to  b'lieve  this  story  on 
this  'ere  boy  ;  he  's  a  manly  looking,  straight- 
for'ard  little  chap,  an'  he  's  got  honest  eyes 
in  his  head,  too." 

"  He  'd  a  deal  better  hev  an  honest  heart 
in  his  body,"  drawled  Jim  Dow,  who  was 
convinced  that  Barney  had  aided  in  the 
burglary. 

When  they  had  gone  around  to  the  window 
with  the  broken  pane,  Barney  looked  up  at  it 
in  great  anxiety.  If  only  it  should  prove  too 
small  for  him  to  slip  through !  Certainly  it 
seemed  very  small. 


THE  CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW  147 

He  had  pulled  off  his  coat  and  stood  ready 
to  jump. 

"  Up  with  you  !  "  said  Stebbins. 

The  boy  laid  both  hands  on  the  sill,  gave  a 
light  spring,  and  went  through  the  pane  like 
an  eel. 

"  That  settles  it !  "  he  heard  Stebbins  say 
ing  outside.  And  all  the  idlers  were  laugh 
ing  because  it  was  done  so  nimbly. 

"  That  boy  's  right  smart  of  a  fool/'  said 
one  of  the  lookers-on.  "  Now,  if  that  had 
been  me,  I  'd  hev  made  out  to  git  stuck  some- 
hows  in  that  winder ;  I  'd  have  scotched  my 
wheel  somewhere." 

"  Ef  ye  hed,  I  'd  have  dragged  ye  through 
ennyhow,"  declared  Jim  Dow,  who  had  no 
toleration  of  a  joke  on  a  serious  subject. 
"  This  hyar  boy  air  a  deal  too  peart  ter  try 
enny  sech  fool  tricks  on  Me  !  r' 

Barney  hardly  knew  how  he  got  back  into 
the  wagon  ;  he  only  knew  that  they  were  pres 
ently  jolting  along  once  more  in  the  midst  of 
the  yellow  glare  of  sunlight.  It  had  begun 
to  seem  that  there  was  no  chance  for  him. 


148  THE  CONSCRIPTS9  HOLLOW 

Like  Nick,  he  too  had  madly  believed,  in  spite 
of  everything,  that  something  would  hap 
pen  to  help  him.  He  could  not  think  that, 
innocent  as  he  was,  he  would  be  imprisoned. 
Now,  however,  this  fate  evidently  was  very 
close  upon  him. 

Suddenly  Jim  Dow  spoke.  "  I  s'pose  ye 
war  powerful  disappointed  kase  ye  could  n't 
git  yerself  hitched  in  that  thar  winder;  ye 
air  too  well  used  to  it,  —  ye  hev  been  through 
it  afore." 

"  I  hev  never  been  through  it  afore  !  "  cried 
Barney  indignantly. 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Stebbins  pacifically,  "  it 
would  n't  have  done  you  any  good  if  you 
had  n't  gone  through  the  pane  just  now.  I'd 
have  only  thought  you  were  one  of  those  who 
stood  on  the  outside.  You  see,  the  main 
point  against  you  is  that  scrap  of  your  coat 
and  your  button  found  right  there  by  the 
Conscripts'  Hollow,  —  though,  of  course,  your 
going  through  the  window-pane  so  easy  makes 
it  more  complete." 

Barney's  tired  brain  began  to  fumble  at 
this  problem,  —  how  did  it  happen? 


THE  CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW  149 

He  had  not  been  on  the  ledge  nor  at  the 
Conscripts'  Hollow  for  six  months  at  least. 
Yet  there  was  that  bit  of  his  coat  and  his 
button  found  on  the  bush  close  at  hand  only 
to-day. 

Was  it  possible  that  he  could  have  ex 
changed  coats  by  mistake  with  Nick  the  last 
afternoon  that  they  were  on  the  crag  to 
gether  ? 

"  Did  Nick  wear  my  coat  down  on  the 
ledge,  I  wonder,  an'  git  it  tored  ?  Did  Nick 
see  the  plunder  in  the  Conscripts'  Hollow, 
an'  git  skeered,  an'  then  sot  out  ter  lyin'  ter 
git  shet  o'  the  blame  ?  " 

As  he  asked  himself  these  questions,  he  be 
gan  to  remember,  vaguely,  having  seen,  just 
as  he  was  falling  asleep,  his  friend's  head 
slowly  disappearing  beneath  the  verge  of  the 
crag. 

"  Nick  started  down  ter  the  ledge,  any 
how,"  he  argued. 

Did  he  dream  it,  or  was  it  true,  that  when 
Nick  came  back  he  seemed  at  first  strangely 
agitated  ? 


150  THE  CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW 

All  at  once  Barney  exclaimed  aloud,  — 

"  This  hyar  air  a  powerful  cur'ous  thing 
'bout'n  that  thar  piece  what  war  tored  out'n 
my  coat !  " 

"  What  's  curious  about  it  ?  "  asked  Steb- 
bins  quickly. 

Jim  Dow  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth,  and 
looked  sharply  at  the  boy. 

Barney  struggled  for  a  moment  with  a 
strong  temptation.  Then  a  nobler  impulse 
asserted  itself.  He  would  not  even  attempt 
to  shield  himself  behind  the  friend  who  had 
done  him  so  grievous  an  injury. 

He  knew  nothing  positively ;  he  must  not 
put  his  suspicions  and  his  vague,  half -sleeping 
impressions  into  words,  and  thus  possibly 
criminate  Nick. 

He  himself  felt  certain  now  how  the  matter 
really  stood,  —  that  Nick  had  no  connection 
whatever  with  the  robbery,  but  having  acci 
dentally  stumbled  upon  the  stolen  goods,  he 
had  become  panic-stricken,  had  lied  about  it, 
and  finally  had  saved  himself  at  the  expense 
of  an  innocent  friend. 


THE  CONSCRIPTS9  HOLLOW  151 

Still,  Barney  had  no  proof  of  this,  and  he 
felt  he  would  rather  suffer  unjustly  himself 
than  unjustly  throw  blame  on  another. 

"  Nothing  nothin',"  he  said  absently.  "  I 
war  jes'  a-studyin'  'bout'n  it  all." 

"  Well,  I  would  n't  think  about  it  any 
more  just  now/'  said  good-natured  Stebbins. 
"  ,You  look  like  you  had  been  dragged  through 
a  keyhole  instead  of  a  window-pane.  This 
town  we  're  coming  to  is  the  biggest  town  you 


ever  saw." 


Barney  could  not  respond  to  this  attempt 
to  divert  his  attention.  He  could  only  brood 
upon  the  fact  that  he  was  innocent,  and  would 
be  punished  as  if  he  were  guilty,  and  that 
it  was  Nick  Gregory,  his  chosen  friend,  who 
had  brought  him  to  this  pass. 

He  would  not  be  unmanly,  and  injure 
Nick  with  a  possibly  unfounded  suspicion,  but 
his  heart  burned  with  indignation  and  con 
tempt  when  he  thought  of  him.  He  felt  that 
he  would  go  through  fire  and  water  to  be 
justly  revenged  upon  him. 

He  determined  that,  if  ever  he  should  see 


152  THE  CONSCRIPTS1  HOLLOW 

Nick  again,  even  though  years  might  inter 
vene,  he  would  tax  him  with  the  injury  he 
had  wrought,  and  make  him  answer  for  it. 

Barney  clenched  his  fists  as  he  looked  back 
at  the  ethereal  blue  shadows  that  they  said 
were  the  solid  old  hills. 

Perhaps,  however,  if  he  had  known  where, 
in  the  misty  uncertainty  that  enveloped  Go 
liath  Mountain,  Nick  Gregory  was  at  this 
moment,  —  far  away  in  the  lonely  woods, 
helpless  with  his  broken  arm,  perched  high 
up  on  the  "  Old  Man's  Chimney,"  —  Barney 
might  have  thought  himself  the  more  fortu 
nately  placed  of  the  two. 

Before  he  was  well  aware  of  it,  the  wagon 
was  jolting  into  the  town.  He  took  no  notice 
of  how  much  larger  the  little  village  was  than 
any  he  had  ever  seen  before.  His  attention 
was  riveted  by  the  faces  of  the  people  who 
ran  to  the  doors  and  windows,  upon  recogniz 
ing  the  officers,  to  stare  at  him  as  one  of  the 
burglars. 

When  the  wagon  reached  the  public  square, 
a  number  of  men  came  up  and  stopped  it. 


THE  CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW  153 

Barney  was  surprised  that  they  took  so  lit 
tle  notice  of  him.  They  were  talking  loudly 
and  excitedly  to  the  officers,  who  grew  at  once 
loud  and  excited,  too. 

The  boy  roused  himself,  and  began  to  listen 
to  the  conversation.  The  burglars  had  been 
captured !  —  yes,  that  was  what  they  were 
saying.  The  deputy-sheriff  had  nabbed  the 
whole  gang  in  a  western  district  of  the  county 
this  morning  early,  and  they  were  lodged  at 
this  moment  in  jail.  Barney's  heart  sank. 
Would  he  be  put  among  the  guilty  creatures  ? 
He  flinched  from  the  very  idea. 

Suddenly,  here  was  the  deputy-sheriff  him 
self,  a  young  man,  dusty  and  tired  with  his 
long,  hard  ride,  but  with  an  air  of  great  satis 
faction  in  his  success.  He  talked  with  many 
quick  gestures  that  were  very  expressive. 
Sometimes  he  would  leave  a  sentence  unfin 
ished  except  by  a  brisk  nod,  but  all  the  crowd 
caught  its  meaning  instantly.  This  pecu 
liarity  gave  him  a  very  animated  manner, 
and  he  seemed  to  Barney  to  enjoy  being  in  a 
position  of  authority. 


154  THE  CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW 

He  pressed  his  foaming  horse  close  to  the 
wagon,  and  leaning  over,  looked  searchingly 
into  Barney's  face. 

The  poor  boy  looked  up  deprecatingly  from 
under  his  limp  and  drooping  hat-brim. 

All  the  crowd  stood  in  silence,  watching 
them.  After  a  moment  of  this  keen  scrutiny, 
the  deputy  turned  to  the  constable  with  an 
interrogative  wave  of  the  hand. 

"  This  hyar  's  the  boy  what  war  put  through 
the  winder-pane  ter  thieve  from  Blenkins," 
said  Jim  Dow.  "  Thar 's  consider'ble  fac's 
agin  him." 

"You  mean  well,  Jim,"  said  the  deputy, 
with  a  short,  scornful  laugh.  "  But  your  per 
formance  ain't  always  equal  to  your  inten 
tions." 

He  lifted  his  eyebrows  and  nodded  in  a 
significant  way  that  the  crowd  understood,  for 
there  was  a  stir  of  excitement  in  its  midst ; 
but  poor  Barney  failed  to  catch  his  meaning. 
He  hung  upon  every  tone  and  gesture  with 
the  intensest  interest.  All  the  talk  was  about 
him,  and  he  could  comprehend  no  more  than 
if  the  man  spoke  in  a  foreign  language. 


THE  CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW  155 

Still,  he  gathered  something  of  the  drift  of 
the  speech  from  the  constable's  reply. 

"  That  thar  boy's  looks  hev  bamboozled 
more  'n  one  man  ter-day,  jes'  at  fust,"  Jim 
Dow  drawled.  "  Looks  ain't  nothin'." 

"  I  'd  believe  'most  anything  a  boy  with  a 
face  on  him  like  that  would  tell  me,"  said  the 
deputy.  "  And  besides,  you  see,  one  of  those 
scamps,"  with  a  quick  nod  toward  the  jail, 
"  has  turned  State's  evidence." 

Barney's  heart  was  in  a  great  tumult.  It 
seemed  bursting.  There  was  a  hot  rush  of 
blood  to  his  head.  He  was  dizzy  —  and  he 
could  not  understand ! 

State's  evidence,  —  what  was  that  ?  and 
what  would  that  do  to  him  ? 


CHAPTER  V 

Barney  observed  that  these  words  produced 
a  marked  sensation.  The  crowd  began  to 
press  more  closely  around  the  deputy-sheriff's 
foaming  horse. 

"  Who  hev  done  turned  State's  evidence  ?  " 
asked  Jim  Dow. 


156  THE  CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW 

"  Little  Jeff  Carew,  —  you  've  seen  that 
puny  little  man  a-many  a  time  —  have  n't  you, 
Jim  ?  He  'd  go  into  your  pocket." 

"  He  would,  I  know,  powerful  quick,  ef  he 
thunk  I  hed  ennything  in  it,"  said  Jim,  with 
a  gruff  laugh. 

"I  didn't  mean  that,  though  it's  true 
enough.  I  only  went  ter  say  that  he  's  small 
enough  to  go  into  any  ordinary-sized  fellow's 
pocket.  Some  of  the  rest  of  them  wanted  to 
turn  State's  evidence,  but  they  were  n't  al 
lowed.  They  were  harder  customers  even 
than  Jeff  Carew, — regular  old  jail-birds." 

Barney  began  to  vaguely  understand  that 
when  a  prisoner  confesses  the  crime  he  has 
committed,  and  gives  testimony  which  will 
convict  his  partners  in  it,  this  is  called  turning 
"  State's  evidence." 

But  how  was  it  to  concern  Barney  ? 

An  old  white-haired  man  had  pushed  up  to 
the  wagon ;  he  polished  his  spectacles  on  his 
coat-tail,  then  put  them  on  his  nose,  and 
focused  them  on  Barney.  Those  green  spec 
tacles  seemed  to  the  boy  to  have  a  solemnly 


THE  CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW  157 

accusing  expression  on  their  broad  and  sombre 
lenses.  He  shrank  as  the  old  man  spoke,  — 

"And  is  this  the  boy  who  was  slipped 
through  the  window  to  steal  from  Blenkins  ?  " 

"No/'  said  the  deputy,  "this  ain't  the 
boy." 

Barney  could  hardly  believe  his  senses. 

"Fact  is/'  continued  the  deputy,  with  a 
brisk  wave  of  his  hand,  "  there  was  n't  any 
boy  with  'em,  —  so  little  Jeff  Carew  says. 
He  jumped  through  the  window-pane  himself. 
We  would  n't  believe  that  until  we  measured 
one  there  at  the  jail  of  the  same  size  as  Blen 
kins' s  window-glass,  and  he  went  through  it 
without  a  wriggle." 

Barney  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"  Oh,  tell  it  ter  me,  folkses  !  "  he  cried 
wildly ;  "  tell  it  ter  me,  somebody  !  Will 
they  keep  me  hyar  all  the  same  ?  An'  when 
will  I  see  G'liath  Mounting  agin,  an'  be  whar 
Melissy  air  ?  " 

He  had  burst  into  tears,  and  there  was  a 
murmur  of  sympathy  in  the  crowd. 

"  Oh,  that  lets  you  out,  I  reckon,  young- 


158  THE  CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW 

ster,"  said  Stebbins.     "  I  'm  glad  enough  of 
it  for  one." 

The  old  man  turned  his  solemnly  accusing 
green  spectacles  on  Stebbins,  and  it  seemed  to 
Barney  that  he  spoke  with  no  less  solemnly 


accusing  a  voice. 


"  He  ought  never  to  have  been  let  in." 

Stebbins  replied,  rather  eagerly,  Barney 
thought,  "  Why,  there  was  enough  against 
that  boy  to  have  clapped  him  in  jail,  and 
maybe  convicted  him,  if  this  man  had  n't 
turned  State's  evidence." 

"  We  hed  the  fac's  agin  him,  —  dead  agin 
him,"  chimed  in  Jim  Dow. 

"That  just  shows  how  much  danger  an 
innocent  boy  was  in  ;  it  seems  to  me  that 
somebody  ought  to  have  been  more  careful," 
the  old  man  protested. 

"  That 's  so  !  "  came  in  half  a  dozen  voices 
from  the  crowd. 

Barney  was  surprised  to  see  how  many 
friends  he  had  now,  when  a  moment  before  he 
had  had  none.  But  he  ought  to  have  realized 
that  there  is  a  great  difference  between  being 
a  young  martyr,  and  seeming  a  young  thief. 


THE   CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW  159 

"  I  want  to  see  the  little  fellow  out  of  this/' 
said  the  old  man  with  the  terrible  spectacles. 

He  saw  him  out  of  it  in  a  short  while. 

There  was  an  examination  before  a  magis 
trate,  in  which  Barney  was  discharged  on  the 
testimony  of  Jeff  Carew,  who  was  produced 
and  swore  that  he  had  never  before  seen  the 
boy,  that  he  was  not  among  the  gang  of 
burglars  who  had  robbed  Blenkins's  store  and 
dwelling-house,  and  that  he  had  had  no  part 
in  helping  to  conceal  the  plunder.  In  oppo 
sition  to  this,  the  mere  finding  of  a  scrap  of 
Barney's  coat  close  to  the  Conscripts'  Hollow 
seemed  now  of  slight  consequence,  although 
it  could  not  be  accounted  for. 

When  the  trial  was  over,  the  old  man  with 
the  green  spectacles  took  Barney  to  his  house, 
gave  him  something  to  eat,  and  saw  him  start 
out  homeward. 

As  Barney  plodded  along  toward  the  blue 
mountains  his  heart  was  very  bitter  against 
Nick  Gregory,  who  had  lied  and  thrown  sus 
picion  upon  him  and  brought  him  into  dan 
ger.  Whenever  he  thought  of  it  he  raised 


160  THE   CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW 

his  clenched  fist  and  shook  it.  He  was  a 
little  f ellow,  but  he  felt  that  with  the  strength 
of  this  grievance  he  was  more  than  a  match 
for  big  Nick  Gregory.  He  would  force  him 
to  confess  the  lies  that  he  had  told  and  his 
cowardice,  and  all  Goliath  Mountain  should 
know  it  and  despise  him  for  it. 

"  I  '11  fetch  an'  kerry  that  word  to  an'  fro 
fur  a  thousand  mile  !  "  Barney  declared  be 
tween  his  set  teeth. 

Now  and  then  a  wagoner  overtook  him  and 
gave  him  a  ride,  thus  greatly  helping  him  on 
his  way.  As  he  went,  there  was  a  gradual 
change  in  the  blue  and  misty  range  that 
seemed  to  encircle  the  west,  and  which  he 
knew,  by  one  deep  indentation  in  the  horizon 
tal  line  of  its  summit,  was  Goliath  Mountain. 
It  became  first  an  intenser  blue.  As  he  drew 
nearer  still,  it  turned  a  bronzed  green.  It 
had  purpled  with  the  sunset  before  he  could 
distinguish  the  crimson  and  gold  of  its  foliage 
and  its  beetling  crags.  Night  had  fallen  when 
he  reached  the  base  of  the  mountain. 

There   was  no   moon  ;    heavy  clouds  were 


THE  CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW  161 

rolling  up  from  the  horizon,  and  they  hid  the 
stars.  Nick  Gregory,  lying  on  the  ledge  of 
the  "  Old  Man's  Chimney/'  thirty  feet  above 
the  black  earth,  could  not  see  his  hand  before 
his  face.  The  darkness  was  dreadful  to  him. 
It  had  closed  upon  a  dreadful  day.  The 
seconds  were  measured  by  the  throbs  and 
dartings  of  pain  in  his  arm.  He  was  almost 
exhausted  by  hunger  and  thirst.  He  thought, 
however,  that  he  could  have  borne  it  all  cheer 
fully,  but  for  the  sharp  remorse  that  tortured 
him  for  the  wrong  he  had  done  to  his  friend, 
and  his  wild  anxiety  about  Barney's  fate. 
Nick  felt  that  he,  himself,  was  on  trial  here, 
imprisoned  on  this  tower  of  stone,  cut  off 
from  the  world,  from  everything  but  his 
sternly  accusing  conscience  and  his  guilty 
heart. 

For  hours  he  had  heard  nothing  but  the 
monotonous  rushing  of  the  water  close  at 
hand,  or  now  and  then  the  shrill,  quavering 
cry  of  a  distant  screech-owl,  or  the  almost 
noiseless  flapping  of  a  bat's  wings  as  they 
swept  by  him. 


162  THE  CONSCRIPTS*  HOLLOW 

He  had  hardly  a  hope  of  deliverance,  when 
suddenly  there  came  a  new  sound,  vague  and 
indistinguishable.  He  lifted  himself  upon 
his  left  elbow  and  listened  again.  He  could 
hear  nothing  for  a  moment  except  his  own 
panting  breath  and  the  loud  beating  of  his 
heart.  But  there  —  the  sound  came  once 
more.  What  was  it?  a  dropping  leaf?  the 
falling  of  a  fragment  of  stone  from  the 
"  Chimney  "  ?  a  distant  step  ? 

It  grew  more  distinct  as  it  drew  nearer ; 
presently  he  recognized  it,  —  the  regular  foot 
fall  of  some  man  or  boy  plodding  along  the 
path.  That  path  !  —  a  recollection  flashed 
through  his  mind.  No  one  knew  that  short 
cut  up  the  mountain  but  him  and  Barney; 
they  had  worn  the  path  with  their  trampings 
back  and  forth  from  the  "  Old  Man's  Chim 
ney." 

He  thought  he  must  be  dreaming,  or  that 
he  had  lost  his  reason ;  still  he  shouted  out, 
"  Hold  on,  thar  !  air  it  ye,  Barney  ?  " 

The  step  paused.  Then  a  reply  came  in  a 
voice  that  he  hardly  recognized  as  Barney's ; 


THE  CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW  163 

it  was  so  fierce,  and  so  full  of  half-repressed 
anger. 

"  Yes,  it  air  Barney,  —  ef  ye  Lev  any  call 
ter  know." 

"  How  did  ye  git  away,  Barney  ?  —  how 
did  ye  git  away  ?  "  exclaimed  Nick,  with  a 
joyous  sense  of  relief. 

"  A  thief's  word  cl'ared  me !  " 

This  bitter  cry  came  up  to  Nick,  sharp  and 
distinct,  through  the  dark  stillness.  He  said 
nothing  at  the  moment,  and  presently  he 
heard  Barney  speak  again,  as  he  stood  invisi 
ble,  and  enveloped  in  the  gloom  of  the  night, 
at  the  foot  of  the  mighty  column. 

"  'T  war  my  bes'  frien'  ez  sunk  me  deep  in 
trouble.  But  the  thief 9  he  fished  me  up.  He 
'lowed  ter  the  jestice  ez  I  never  holped  him 
ter  steal  nothin'  nor  ter  hide  it  arterward, 
nuther." 

Nick  said  not  a  word.  The  hot  tears  came 
into  his  eyes.  Barney,  he  thought,  could  feel 
no  more  bitterly  toward  him  than  he  felt 
toward  himself. 

"  How  kem  my  coat  ter  be  tored  down  thar 


164  THE  CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW 

on  the  ledge,  close  ter  the  Conscripts'  Hollow, 
whar  I  hain't  been  sence  the  cloth  war 
wove?" 

There  was  a  long  pause. 

"  I  wore  it  thar,  Barney,  'stid  o'  mine," 
Nick  replied  at  last.  "  I  never  knowed,  at 
fust,  ez  I  hed  tored  it.  I  was  so  skeered  when  I 
seen  the  stole  truck,  I  never  knowed  nothin'." 

"  An'  then  ye  spoke  a  lie  !  An'  arterward, 
ye  let  the  folks  think  ez  't  war  me  ez  hed 
tored  that  coat  close  by  the  Conscripts* 
Hollow  !  " 

"  I  was  skeered  haffen  ter  death,  Barney  !" 

Nick  was  very  contemptible  in  his  falsehood 
and  cowardice,  —  even  in  his  repeniance  and 
shame  and  sorrow.  At  least,  so  the  boy 
thought  who  stood  in  the  darkness  at  the 
foot  of  the  great  column.  Suddenly  it  oc 
curred  to  Barney  that  this  was  a  strange  place 
for  Nick  to  be  at  this  hour  of  the  night.  His 
indignation  gave  way  for  a  moment  to  some 
natural  curiosity. 

"What  air  ye  a-doin'  of  up  thar  on  the 
Old  Man's  Chimney?  "  he  asked. 


THE  CONSCRIPTS1  HOLLOW  165 

"I  kem  up  hyar  this  mornin'  early,  ter 
watch  the  wagon  a-takin'  ye  off.  Then  I  fell 
and  bruk  my  arm,  an'  I  can't  git  down  'thout 
bein'  holped  a  little." 

There  was  another  silence,  so  intense  that  it 
seemed  to  Nick  as  if  he  were  all  alone  again 
in  the  immensity  of  the  mountains,  and  the 
black  night,  and  the  endless  forests.  He  had 
expected  an  immediate  proffer  of  assistance 
from  Barney.  He  had  thought  that  his  in 
jured  friend  would  relent  in  his  severity  when 
he  knew  that  he  had  suffered  too ;  that  he 
was  in  great  pain  even  at  this  moment. 

But  not  a  word  came  from  Barney. 

"  I  hed  laid  off  ter  ax  ye  ter  holp  me  a 
little,"  Nick  faltered  meekly,  making  his  ap 
peal  direct. 

There  was  no  answer. 

It  was  so  still  that  the  boy,  high  up  on  the 
sandstone  pillar,  could  hear  the  wind  rising 
among  the  far  spurs  west  of  Goliath.  The 
foliage  near  at  hand  was  ominously  quiet  in 
the  sultry  air.  Once  there  was  a  flash  of 
lightning  from  the  black  clouds,  followed  by 


166  THE  CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW 

a  low  muttering  of  thunder.  Then  all  was 
still  again,  —  so  still ! 

Nick  raised  himself  upon  his  left  arm,  and 
leaned  cautiously  over  the  verge  of  the  ledge, 
peering,  with  starting  eyes,  into  the  darkness, 
and  hoping  for  another  flash  of  lightning  that 
he  might  see  below  for  an  instant.  A  terrible 
suspicion  had  come  to  him.  Could  Barney 
have  slipped  quietly  away,  leaving  him  to  his 
fate? 

He  could  see  nothing  in  the  impenetrable 
gloom;  he  could  hear  nothing  in  the  dark 
stillness. 

Barney  had  not  yet  gone,  but  he  was  say 
ing  to  himself,  as  he  stood  at  the  foot  of  the 
great  obelisk,  that  here  was  his  revenge,  far 
more  complete  than  he  had  dared  even  to 
hope. 

He  could  measure  out  his  false  friend's 
punishment  in  any  degree  he  thought  fit.  He 
could  leave  him  there  with  his  broken  arm 
and  his  pangs  of  hunger  for  another  day. 
He  deserved  it,  —  he  deserved  it  richly.  The 
recollection  was  still  very  bitter  to  Barney 


THE  CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW  167 

of  the  hardships  he  had  endured  at  the  hands 
of  this  boy,  who  asked  him  now  for  help. 
Why  did  he  not  refuse  it?  Why  should  he 
not  take  the  revenge  he  had  promised  him 
self? 

And  then  he  knew  there  was  danger  in  now 
trying  to  climb  the  jagged  edges  of  the  Old 
Man's  Chimney.  His  nerves  were  shaken  by 
the  excitements  of  the  day ;  he  was  fagged 
out  by  his  long  tramp  ;  the  wind  was  begin 
ning  to  surge  among  the  trees ;  it  might  blow 
him  from  his  uncertain  foothold.  But  when 
it  gained  more  strength,  might  it  not  drive 
Nick,  helpless  with  his  broken  arm,  from  that 
high  ledge? 

As  this  thought  crossed  his  mind,  he  tore 
off  his  hat,  coat,  and  shoes,  and  desperately 
began  the  ascent.  He  thought  he  knew  every 
projection  and  crevice  and  bush  so  well  that 
he  might  have  found  his  way  blindfolded,  and 
guided  by  the  sense  of  touch  alone.  But  he 
did  not  lack  for  light.  Before  he  was  six  feet 
up  from  the  ground,  the  clouds  were  rent  by 
a  vivid  flash,  and  an  instantaneous  peal  of 


168  THE  CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW 

thunder  woke  all  the  echoes.  This  was  the 
breaking  of  the  storm ;  afterward,  there  was 
a  continuous  pale  flickering  over  all  the  sky, 
and  at  close  intervals,  dazzling  gleams  of 
lightning  darted  through  the  rain,  which  was 
now  falling  heavily. 

"  I  'm  a-comin',  Nick !  "  shouted  Barney, 
through  the  din  of  the  elements. 

Somehow,  as  he  climbed,  he  felt  light- 
hearted  again.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had 
left  a  great  weight  at  the  foot  of  the  gigantic 
sandstone  column.  Could  it  be  that  bitter 
revenge  he  had  promised  himself?  He  had 
thought  only  of  Nick's  safety,  but  he  seemed 
to  have  done  himself  a  kindness  in  forgiving 
his  friend,  —  the  burden  of  revenge  is  so 
heavy !  His  troubles  were  already  growing 
faint  in  his  memory,  —  it  was  so  good  to  feel 
the  rain  splashing  in  his  face,  and  his  rude 
playfellow,  the  mountain  wind,  rioting  around 
him  once  more.  He  was  laughing  when  at 
last  he  pulled  himself  up,  wet  through  and 
through,  on  the  ledge  beside  Nick. 

"  It  's  airish  up  hyar,  ain't  it?  "  he  cried. 


THE  CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW  169 

"  Barney,"  said  Nick  miserably,  "  I  dunno 
how  I  kin  ever  look  at  ye  agin,  squar'  in  the 
face,  while  I  lives." 

"  Shet  that  up  !  "  Barney  returned  good- 
humoredly.  "  I  don't  want  ter  ever  hear 
'bout'n  it  no  more.  I  '11  always  know,  arter 
this,  that  I  can't  place  no  dependence  in  ye ; 
but,  law,  ye  air  jes'  like  that  old  gun  o'  mine ; 
sometimes  it  '11  hang  fire,  an'  sometimes  it  '11 
go  off  at  half-cock,  an'  ginerally  it  disapp'ints 
me  mightily.  But,  somehows,  I  can't  deter 
minate  to  shoot  with  no  other  one.  I  '11  hev 
ter  feel  by  ye  jes'  like  I  does  by  that  thar  old 
gun." 

The  descent  was  slow  and  difficult,  and 
very  painful  to  Nick,  and  fraught  with  con 
siderable  danger  to  both  boys.  They  accom 
plished  it  in  safety,  however,  and  then,  with 
Barney's  aid,  Nick  managed  to  drag  himself 
through  the  woods  to  the  nearest  log  cabin, 
where  his  arm  was  set  by  zealous  and  sympa 
thetic  amateurs  in  a  rude  fashion  that  probably 
would  have  shocked  the  faculty.  They  had 
some  supper  here,  and  an  invitation  to  remain 


170  THE  CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW 

all  night ;  but  Barney  was  wild  to  be  at  home, 
and  Nick,  in  his  adversity,  clung  to  his  friend. 

The  rain  had  ceased,  and  they  had  only 
half  a  mile  further  to  go.  Barney's  heart 
was  exultant  when  he  saw  the  light  in  the 
window  of  his  home,  and  the  sparks  flying 
up  from  the  chimney.  He  had  some  curiosity 
to  know  how  the  family  circle  looked  without 
him. 

"  Ye  wait  hyar,  Nick,  a  minute,  an'  I  '11 
take  a  peek  at  'em  afore  I  bounce  in  'mongst 
'em,"  he  said.  "  I  'm  all  eat  up  ter  know 
what  Melissy  air  a-doin'  'thout  me." 

But  the  sight  smote  the  tears  from  his  eyes 
when  he  stole  around  to  the  window  and 
glanced  in  at  the  little  group,  plainly  shown 
in  the  flare  from  the  open  fire. 

Granny  looked  ten  years  older  since  morn 
ing.  The  three  small  boys,  instead  of  pop 
ping  corn  or  roasting  apples  and  sweet  pota 
toes,  as  was  their  habit  in  the  evenings,  sat  in 
a  dismal  row,  their  chins  on  their  freckled, 
sunburned  hands,  and  their  elbows  on  their 
knees,  and  gazed  ruefully  at  the  fire.  And 


THE  CONSCRIPTS'  HOLLOW  171 

Melissy,  —  why,  there  was  Melissy,  a  little 
blue-and-white  ball  curled  up  on  the  floor. 
Asleep  ?  No.  Barney  caught  the  gleam  of 
her  wide-open  blue  eyes ;  but  he  missed  some 
thing  from  them,  —  the  happy  expression  that 
used  to  dwell  there. 

He  went  at  the  door  with  a  rush.  And 
what  an  uproar  there  was  when  he  suddenly 
sprang  in  among  them !  Melissy  laughed 
until  she  cried.  Granny  whirled  and  whirled 
her  stick,  and  nodded  convulsively,  and 
gasped  out  eager  questions  about  the  trial 
and  the  "  jedge."  The  little  boys  jumped 
for  joy  until  they  seemed  strung  on  wire. 

Soon  they  were  popping  corn  and  roasting 
apples  once  more.  The  flames  roared  up  the 
chimney,  and  the  shadows  danced  on  the 
wall,  and  as  the  hours  wore  on,  they  were  all 
so  happy  that  when  midnight  came,  it  caught 
them  still  grouped  around  the  fire. 


A  WARNING 

IT  was  night  on  Elm  Ridge.  So  black, 
so  black  that  the  great  crags  and  chasms  were 
hidden,  the  forest  was  lost  in  the  encompass 
ing  gloom,  the  valley  and  the  distant  ranges 
were  gone,  —  all  the  world  had  disappeared. 

There  was  no  wind,  and  the  dark  clouds 
above  the  dark  earth  hung  low  and  motion 
less.  Solomon  Grow  found  it  something  of 
an  undertaking  to  grope  his  way  back  from 
the  little  hut  of  unhewn  logs,  where  he  had 
stabled  his  father's  horse,  to  the  door  of  the 
cabin  and  the  home-circle  within. 

He  fumbled  for  the  latchstring,  and  pull 
ing  it  carelessly,  the  door  flew  open  suddenly, 
and  he  almost  fell  into  the  room. 

"  Why  d'  ye  come  a-bustin'  in  hyar  that 
thar  way,  Sol  ?  "  his  mother  demanded  rather 
tartly.  "  Ef  ye  hed  been  raised  'mongst  the 
foxes,  ye  could  n't  show  less  manners." 


A    WARNING  173 

"  Door  slipped  out'n  my  hand/'  said  Sol, 
a  trifle  sullenly. 

"  Waal  —  air  ye  disabled  anywhar  so  ez 
ye  can't  shet  it,  eh  ?  "  asked  his  father,  with 
a  touch  of  sarcasm. 

Sol  shut  the  door,  drew  up  an  inverted  tub, 
seated  himself  upon  it,  and  looked  about, 
loweringly.  He  thought  he  had  been  need 
lessly  affronted.  Still,  he  held  his  peace. 

Within,  there  was  a  great  contrast  to  the 
black  night  outside.  The  ash  and  hickory 
logs  in  the  deep  fireplace  threw  blue  and  yel 
low  flames  high  up  the  wide  stone  chimney. 
The  flickering  light  was  like  some  genial, 
cheery  smile  forever  coming  and  going. 

It  illumined  the  circle  about  the  hearth. 
There  sat  Sol's  mother,  idle  to-night,  for  it 
was  Sunday.  His  grandmother,  too,  was 
there,  so  old  that  she  seemed  to  confirm  the 
story  told  of  these  healthy  mountains,  to  the 
effect  that  people  are  obliged  to  go  down  in 
the  valley  to  die,  else  they  would  live  forever. 

There  was  Sol's  father,  a  great  burly  fellow, 
six  feet  three  inches  in  height,  still  holding 


174  A    WARNING 

out  his  hands  to  the  blaze,  chilled  through 
and  through  by  his  long  ride  from  the  church 
where  he  had  been  to  hear  the  circuit-rider 
preach  on  "  Forgiveness  of  Injuries." 

He  was  beginning  now  to  quarrel  vehe 
mently  with  his  brother-in-law,  Jacob  Smith, 
about  the  shabby  treatment  he  had  recently 
experienced  in  the  non-payment  of  work, — 
for  work  in  this  country  is  a  sort  of  circulat 
ing  medium ;  a  man  will  plough  a  day  for 
another  man,  on  condition  that  the  favor  is 
rigorously  reciprocated. 

Jacob  Smith  had  been  to  the  still,  and  ap 
parently  had  imbibed  the  spirit  there  prevail 
ing,  to  more  effect  than  Sol's  father  had 
absorbed  the  spirit  that  had  been  taught  in 
church. 

In  plain  words,  Jacob  Smith  was  very 
drunk,  and  very  quarrelsome,  and  very  un 
reasonable.  The  genial  firelight  that  played 
upon  his  bloated  face  played  also  over  objects 
much  pleasanter  to  look  upon,  —  over  the 
strings  of  red  pepper-pods  hanging  from  the 
rafters  ;  over  the  bright  variegations  of  color 


A    WARNING  175 

in  the  clean  patchwork  quilt  on  the  bed ;  over 
the  shining  pans  and  pails  set  aside  on  the 
shelf;  over  the  great,  curious  frame  of  the 
warping-bars,  rising  up  among  the  shadows 
on  the  other  side  of  the  room,  the  equidistant 
pegs  still  holding  the  sized  yarn  that  Solo 
mon's  mother  had  been  warping,  preparatory 
to  weaving. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  room,  too,  was 
a  little  tow-headed  child  sitting  in  a  cradle, 
which,  small  as  he  was,  he  had  long  ago  out 
grown  as  a  bed. 

It  was  only  a  pine  box  placed  upon  rude 
rockers,  and  he  used  it  for  a  rocking-chair. 
His  bare,  fat  legs  hung  out  on  one  side  of  the 
box,  and  as  he  delightedly  rocked  back  and 
forth,  his  grotesque  little  shadow  waved  to 
and  fro  on  the  wall,  and  mocked  and  flouted 
him. 

What  he  thought  of  it,  nobody  can  ever 
know  ;  his  grave  eyes  were  fixed  upon  it,  but 
he  said  nothing,  and  the  silent  shadow  and 
substance  swayed  joyously  hither  and  thither 
together. 


176  A    WARNING 

The  quarrel  between  the  two  men  was  be 
coming  hot  and  bitter.  One  might  have  ex 
pected  nothing  better  from  Jacob  Smith,  for 
when  a  man  is  drunk,  the  human  element 
drops  like  a  husk,  and  only  the  unreasoning 
brute  is  left. 

But  had  John  Grow  forgotten  all  the  good 
words  he  had  heard  to-day  from  the  circuit- 
rider  ?  Had  they  melted  into  thin  air  during 
his  long  ride  from  the  church?  Were  the 
houseless  good  words  wandering  with  the  ris 
ing  wind  through  the  unpeopled  forest,  seek 
ing  vainly  a  human  heart  where  they  might 
find  a  lodgment  ? 

The  men  had  risen  from  their  chairs  ;  the 
drunkard,  tremulous  with  anger,  had  drawn  a 
sharp  knife.  John  Grow  was  not  so  patient 
as  he  might  have  been,  considering  the  great 
advantage  he  had  in  being  sober,  and  the  good 
words  with  which  he  had  started  out  from  the 
"  meet'n'-house." 

He  laid  his  heavy  hand  angrily  upon  the 
drunken  man's  shoulder. 

In  another  moment  there  would  have  been 


A    WARNING  177 

bloodshed.  But  suddenly  the  dark  shadows 
at  the  Bother  end  of  the  room  swayed  with  a 
strange  motion  ;  a  great  creaking  sound  arose, 
and  the  warping-bars  tottered  forward  and 
fell  upon  the  floor  with  a  crash. 

The  wranglers  turned  with  anxious  faces. 
No  one  was  near  the  bars,  it  seemed  that 
naught  could  have  jarred  them;  but  there 
lay  the  heavy  frame  upon  the  floor,  the  pegs 
broken,  and  the  yarn  twisted. 

"  A  warning  !  "  cried  Sol's  mother.  "  A 
warning  how  you-uns  spen'  the  evenin'  o'  the 
Lord's  Day  in  yer  quar'lin',  an'  fightin',  an' 
sech.  An'  ye,  John  Grow,  jes'  from  the 
meet'n'-house  ! " 

She  did  not  reproach  her  brother,  —  no 
body  hopes  anything  from  a  drunkard. 

"  A  sign  o'  bad  luck,"  said  the  grandmo 
ther.  "  It  'minds  me  o'  the  time  las'  winter 
that  the  wind  blowed  the  door  in,  an'  straight 
arter  that  the  cow  died." 

"  Them  signs  air  ez  likely  ter  take  hold  on 
folks  ez  on  cattle,"  said  Jacob  Smith,  half- 
sobered  by  the  shock. 


178  A   WARNING 

There  was  a  look  of  sudden  anxiety  on  the 
face  of  Solomon's  mother.  She  crossed  the 
room  to  the  youngster  rocking  in  the  cradle. 

"  Come,  Benny,"  she  said,  "  ye  oughter  go 
ter  bed.  Ye  air  wastin'  yer  strength  sittin'  up 
this  late  in  the  night.  An'  ye  war  a-coughin' 
las'  week.  Ye  must  go  ter  bed." 

Benny  clung  to  his  unique  rocking-chair 
with  a  sturdy  strength  which  promised  well 
for  his  muscle  when  he  should  be  as  old  as 
his  great,  strong  brother  Solomon.  He  had 
been  as  quiet,  hitherto,  as  if  he  were  dumb, 
but  now  he  lifted  up  his  voice  in  a  loud  and 
poignant  wail,  and  after  he  was  put  to  bed, 
he  resurrected  himself  from  among  the  bed 
clothes,  ever  and  anon,  with  a  bitter,  though 
infantile,  jargon  of  protest. 

"  I  'm  fairly  af eard  o'  them  bars,"  said  Mrs. 
Grow,  looking  down  upon  the  prostrate  tim 
bers.  "  It 's  comical  that  they  fell  down  that- 
a-way.  I  hopes  't  ain't  no  sign  o'  bad  luck. 
I  would  n't  hev  nothin'  ter  happen  fur  nothin'. 
An'  Benny  war  a-coughin'  las'  week." 

She  had  not  even  the  courage  to  put  her 


A   WARNING  179 

fear  into  words.  And  she  tenderly  admon 
ished  tow-headed  Benny,  who  was  once  more 
getting  out  of  bed,  to  go  to  sleep  and  save 
his  strength,  and  remember  how  he  was 
coughing  last  week. 

"  He  hed  a  chicken-bone  acrost  his  throat/' 
said  his  father.  "  No  wonder  he  coughed." 

Solomon  rose  and  went  out  into  the  black 
night,  —  so  black  that  he  could  not  distin 
guish  the  sky  from  the  earth,  or  the  unob 
structed  air  from  the  dense  forest  around. 

He  walked  about  blindly,  dragging  some 
thing  heavily  after  him.  The  weight  of 
concealment  it  was.  He  knew  something 
that  nobody  knew  besides. 

At  the  critical  moment  of  the  altercation, 
he  had  stepped  softly  among  the  shadows  to 
the  warping-bars,  —  a  strong  push  had  sent 
the  great  frame  crashing  down.  He  was  back 
in  an  instant  among  the  others,  and  by  reason 
of  the  excitement  his  agency  in  the  sensation 
was  not  detected. 

Like  his  biblical  namesake,  Solomon  was 
no  fool.  Had  he  been  reared  in  a  cultivated 


180  A    WARNING 

community,  with  the  advantages  of  education, 
he  might  have  been  one  of  the  bright  young 
fellows  who  manage  other  young  fellows,  who 
control  debating  societies,  who  are  prominent 
in  mysterious  associations,  the  secret  of  which 
is  at  once  guarded  and  represented  by  a 
Cerberus  of  three  Greek  letters. 

But,  wise  as  he  was,  Solomon  was  not  a 
prophet.  He  had  intended  only  to  effect  a 
diversion,  and  stop  the  quarrel.  He  had  had 
no  prevision  of  the  panic  of  superstition  that 
he  had  raised  in  the  minds  of  these  simple 
people ;  for  the  ignorant  mountaineer  is  a 
devout  believer  in  signs  and  warnings. 

As  Solomon  wandered  about  outside,  he 
heard  his  father  stumbling  from  the  door  of 
the  house  to  the  barn  to  see  if  aught  of  evil 
had  come  to  the  cow  or  the  horse.  He  knew 
how  his  grandmother's  heart  was  wrung  with 
fear  for  her  heifer,  and  he  could  hardly  endure 
to  think  of  his  mother's  anxieties  about 
Benny. 

No  prophetic  eye  was  needed  to  foresee  the 
terrors  that  would  beset  her  in  the  days  to 


A   WARNING  181 

come,  when  she  would  walk  back  and  forth 
before  the  bars,  warping  the  yarn  to  be  woven 
into  cloth  for  his  and  Benny's  clothes ;  how 
she  would  regard  the  harmless  frame  as  an 
uncanny  thing,  endowed  with  supernatural 
powers,  and  look  askance  at  it,  and  shrink 
from  touching  it ;  how  she  would  watch  for 
the  sign  to  come  true,  and  tremble  lest  it  come. 

He  turned  about,  dragging  and  tugging 
this  weight  of  concealment  after  him,  ree'n- 
tered  the  house,  and  sat  down  beside  the  fire. 

His  uncle  Jacob  Smith  had  gone  to  his 
own  home.  The  others  were  telling  stories, 
calculated  to  make  one's  hair  stand  on  end, 
about  signs  and  warnings,  and  their  horrible 
fulfillment. 

"  Granny,"  said  Solomon  suddenly. 

"  Waal,  sonny  ?  "  said  his  grandmother. 

When  the  eyes  of  the  family  group  were 
fixed  upon  him,  Solomon's  courage  failed. 

"  Nothin',"  he  said  hastily.  "  Nothin'  at 
all." 

"  Why,  what  ails  the  boy  ?  "  exclaimed  his 
mother. 


182  A   WARNING 

"  I  tell  ye  now,  Solomon/'  said  his  grand 
mother,  with  an  emphatic  nod,  "  ye  hed  bet 
ter  respec'  yer  elders,  —  an'  a  sign  in  the 
house  !  " 

Solomon  slept  little  that  night.  Toward 
day  he  began  to  dream  of  the  warping-bars. 
They  seemed  to  develop  suddenly  into  an  im 
mense  animated  monster,  from  which  he  only 
escaped  by  waking  with  a  sudden  start. 

Then  he  found  that  a  great  white  morning, 
full  of  snow,  was  breaking  upon  the  black 
night.  And  what  a  world  it  was  now  !  The 
mountain  was  graced  with  a  soft  white  dra 
pery  ;  on  every  open  space  there  were  vague 
suggestions  of  delicate  colors  :  in  this  hollow 
lay  a  tender  purple  shadow;  on  that  steep 
slope  was  an  elusive  roseate  flush,  and  when 
you  looked  again,  it  was  gone,  and  the  glare 
was  blinding. 

The  bare  black  branches  of  the  trees  formed 
strangely  interlaced  hieroglyphics  upon  the 
turquoise  sky.  The  crags  were  dark  and 
grim,  despite  their  snowy  crests  and  the 
gigantic  glittering  icicles  that  here  and  there 


A   WARNING  183 

depended  from  them.  A  cascade,  close  by  in 
the  gorge,  had  been  stricken  motionless  and 
dumb,  as  if  by  a  sudden  spell ;  and  still  and 
silent,  it  sparkled  in  the  sun. 

The  snow  lay  deep  on  the  roof  of  the  log 
cabin,  and  the  eaves  were  decorated  with 
shining  icicles.  The  enchantment  had  fol 
lowed  the  zigzag  lines  of  the  fence,  and  on 
every  rail  was  its  embellishing  touch. 

All  the  homely  surroundings  were  trans 
figured.  The  potato-house  was  a  vast  white 
billow,  the  ash-hopper  was  a  marble  vase,  and 
the  fodder-stack  was  a  great  conical  ermine 
cap,  belonging  to  some  mountain  giant  who 
had  lost  it  in  the  wind  last  night. 

"  I  mought  hev  knowed  that  we-uns  war 
a-goin'  ter  hev  this  spell  o'  weather  by  the 
sign  o'  the  warpin'-bars  fallin'  las'  night," 
said  John  Grow,  stamping  off  the  snow  as  he 
came  in  from  feeding  his  horse. 

"  I  hope  't  ain't  no  worse  sign,"  said  his 
wife.  "  But  I  misdoubts."  And  she  sighed 
heavily. 

"  'T  ain't   no    sign  at   all,"  said   Solomon 


184  A   WARNING 

suddenly.    He  could  keep  his  secret  no  longer. 
"  'T  war  me  ez  flung  down  them  warpin'-bars." 

For  a  moment  they  all  stared  at  him  in 
silent  amazement. 

"  What  fur  ?  "  demanded  his  father  at  last. 
"  Just  ter  enjye  sottin'  'em  up  agin  ?  I  '11 
teach  ye  ter  fling  down  warpin'-bars  ! " 

"  Waal/'  said  the  peacemaker,  hesitating, 
"  it  'peared  ter  me  ez  Uncle  Jacob  Smith  war 
toler'ble  drunk,  —  take  him  all  tergether,  — 
an'  ez  he  hed  drawed  a  knife,  I  thought  that 
ye  an'  him  hed  'bout  quar'led  enough.  An* 
so  I  flung  down  the  warpin'-bars  ter  git  the 
fuss  shet  up." 

"  Waal,  sir  !  "  exclaimed  his  grandmother, 
red  with  wrath.  " Ez  ef  my  son  couldn't 
stand  up  agin  all  the  Smiths  that  ever  stepped ! 
Ye  must  fling  down  the  warpin'-bars  an'  twist 
the  spun-truck  —  fur  Jacob  Smith  !  " 

"  Look-a-hyar,  Sol,"  said  his  father  gruffly, 
"  'tend  ter  yerself,  an'  yer  own  quar'ls,  arter 
this,  will  ye  !  " 

Then,  with  a  sudden  humorous  interpreta 
tion  of  the  incident,  he  broke  into  a  guffaw. 


A   WARNING  185 

"  I  hev  lived  a  consider'ble  time  in  this  tanta- 
lizin'  world,  an'  ez  yit  I  dunno  ez  I  hev  hed 
any  need  o'  Sol  ter  pertect  me." 

But  Sol  had  unburdened  his  mind,  and  felt 
at  ease  again ;  not  the  less  because  he  knew 
that  but  for  his  novel  method  of  making 
peace,  there  might  have  been  something  worse 
than  a  sign  in  the  house. 


AMONG  THE  CLIFFS 

IT  was  a  critical  moment.  There  was  a  stir 
other  than  that  of  the  wind  among  the  pine 
needles  and  dry  leaves  that  carpeted  the 
ground. 

The  wary  wild  turkeys  lifted  their  long 
necks  with  that  peculiar  cry  of  half -doubting 
surprise  so  familiar  to  a  sportsman,  then  all 
was  still  for  an  instant. 

The  world  was  steeped  in  the  noontide  sun 
light,  the  mountain  air  tasted  of  the  fresh 
sylvan  fragrance  that  pervaded  the  forest,  the 
foliage  blazed  with  the  red  and  gold  of  au 
tumn,  the  distant  Chilhowee  heights  were 
delicately  blue. 

That  instant's  doubt  sealed  the  doom  of  one 
of  the  flock.  As  the  turkeys  stood  in  mo 
mentary  suspense,  the  sunlight  gilding  their 
bronze  feathers  to  a  brighter  sheen,  there  was 
a  movement  in  the  dense  undergrowth.  The 


AMONG  THE  CLIFFS  187 

flock  took  suddenly  to  wing,  —  a  flash  from 
among  the  leaves,  the  sharp  crack  of  a  rifle, 
and  one  of  the  birds  fell  heavily  over  the  bluff 
and  down  toward  the  valley. 

The  young  mountaineer's  exclamation  of 
triumph  died  in  his  throat.  He  came  run 
ning  to  the  verge  of  the  crag,  and  looked 
down  ruefully  into  the  depths  where  his 
game  had  disappeared. 

"  Waal,  sir,"  he  broke  forth  pathetically, 
"  this  beats  my  time  !  If  my  luck  ain't  enough 
ter  make  a  horse  laugh  !  " 

He  did  not  laugh,  however.  Perhaps  his 
luck  was  calculated  to  stir  only  equine  risi 
bility.  The  cliff  was  almost  perpendicular ;  at 
the  depth  of  twenty  feet  a  narrow  ledge  pro 
jected,  but  thence  there  was  a  sheer  descent, 
down,  down,  down,  to  the  tops  of  the  tall 
trees  in  the  valley  far  below. 

As  Ethan  Tynes  looked  wistfully  over  the 
precipice,  he  started  with  a  sudden  surprise. 
There  on  the  narrow  ledge  lay  the  dead 
turkey. 

The  sight  sharpened  Ethan's  regrets.     He 


188  AMONG  THE  CLIFFS 

had  made  a  good  shot,  and  he  hated  to  relin 
quish  his  game.  While  he  gazed  in  dismayed 
meditation,  an  idea  began  to  kindle  in  his 
brain.  Why  could  he  not  let  himself  down 
to  the  ledge  by  those  long,  strong  vines  that 
hung  over  the  edge  of  the  cliff  ? 

It  was  risky,  Ethan  knew,  —  terribly  risky. 
But  then,  —  if  only  the  vines  were  strong  ! 

He  tried  them  again  and  again  with  all  his 
might,  selected  several  of  the  largest,  grasped 
them  hard  and  fast,  and  then  slipped  lightly 
off  the  crag. 

He  waited  motionless  for  a  moment.  His 
movements  had  dislodged  clods  of  earth  and 
fragments  of  rock  from  the  verge  of  the  cliff, 
and  until  these  had  ceased  to  rattle  about  his 
head  and  shoulders  he  did  not  begin  his 
downward  journey. 

Now  and  then  as  he  went  he  heard  the 
snapping  of  twigs,  and  again  a  branch  would 
break,  but  the  vines  which  supported  him  were 
tough  and  strong  to  the  last.  Almost  before 
he  knew  it  he  stood  upon  the  ledge,  and 
with  a  great  sigh  of  relief  he  let  the  vines 
swing  loose. 


AMONG  THE  CLIFFS  189 

"  Waal;  that  war  n't  sech  a  mighty  job  at 
last.  But  law,  ef  it  hed  been  Peter  Birt  stid 
of  me,  that  thar  wild  tur-r-key  would  hev  laid 
on  this  hyar  ledge  plumb  till  the  Jedgmint 
Day!" 

He  walked  deftly  along  the  ledge,  picked 
up  the  bird,  and  tied  it  to  one  of  the  vines 
with  a  string  which  he  took  from  his  pocket, 
intending  to  draw  it  up  when  he  should  be 
once  more  on  the  top  of  the  crag.  These 
preparations  complete,  he  began  to  think  of 
going  back. 

He  caught  the  vines  on  which  he  had 
made  the  descent,  but  before  he  had  fairly 
left  the  ledge,  he  felt  that  they  were  giving 
way. 

He  paused,  let  himself  slip  back  to  a  secure 
foothold,  and  tried  their  strength  by  pulling 
with  all  his  force. 

Presently  down  came  the  whole  mass  in  his 
hands.  The  friction  against  the  sharp  edges  of 
the  rock  over  which  they  had  been  stretched 
with  a  strong  tension  had  worn  them  through. 
His  first  emotion  was  one  of  intense  thankful- 


190  AMONG  THE  CLIFFS 

ness  that  they  had  fallen  while  he  was  on  the 
ledge  instead  of  midway  in  his  precarious 
ascent. 

"  Ef  they  hed  kem  down  whilst  I  war 
a-goin'  up,  I  'd  hev  been  flung  plumb  down 
ter  the  bottom  o'  the  valley,  'kase  this  ledge 
air  too  narrer  ter  hev  cotched  me." 

He  glanced  down  at  the  sombre  depths 
beneath.  "  Thar  would  n't  hev  been  enough 
left  of  me  ter  pick  up  on  a  shovel !  "  he  ex 
claimed,  with  a  tardy  realization  of  his  foolish 
recklessness. 

The  next  moment  a  mortal  terror  seized 
him.  What  was  to  be  his  fate  ?  To  regain 
the  top  of  the  cliff  by  his  own  exertions  was 
an  impossibility. 

He  cast  his  despairing  eyes  up  the  ascent, 
as  sheer  and  as  smooth  as  a  wall,  without  a 
crevice  which  might  afford  a  foothold,  or  a 
shrub  to  which  he  might  cling. 

His  strong  head  was  whirling  as  he  again 
glanced  downward  to  the  unmeasured  abyss 
beneath.  He  softly  let  himself  sink  into  a 
sitting  posture,  his  heels  dangling  over  the 


HOW    LONG    WAS    IT    TO    LAST 


AMONG  THE  CLIFFS  191 

frightful  depths,  and  addressed  himself  reso 
lutely  to  the  consideration  of  the  terrible 
danger  in  which  he  was  placed. 

Taken  at  its  best,  how  long  was  it  to  last  ? 
Could  he  look  to  any  human  being  for  deliv 
erance  ?  He  reflected  with  growing  dis 
may  that  the  place  was  far  from  any  dwell 
ing,  and  from  the  road  that  wound  along  the 
ridge. 

There  was  no  errand  that  could  bring  a 
man  to  this  most  unfrequented  portion  of  the 
deep  woods,  unless  an  accident  should  hither 
direct  some  hunter's  step. 

It  was  quite  possible,  nay,  probable,  that 
years  might  elapse  before  the  forest  solitude 
would  again  be  broken  by  human  presence. 

His  brothers  would  search  for  him  when 
he  should  be  missed  from  home,  —  but  such 
boundless  stretches  of  forest !  They  might 
search  for  weeks  and  never  come  near  this 
spot.  He  would  die  here,  he  would  starve,  — 
no,  he  would  grow  drowsy  when  exhausted 
and  fall  —  fall  —  fall! 

He  was  beginning  to  feel  that  morbid  fasci- 


192  AMONG  THE  CLIFFS 

nation  that  sometimes  seizes  upon  those  who 
stand  on  great  heights,  —  an  overwhelming 
impulse  to  plunge  downward.  His  only  sal 
vation  was  to  look  up.  He  would  look  up  to 
the  sky. 

And  what  were  these  words  he  was  begin 
ning  to  faintly  remember?  Had  not  the 
circuit-rider  said  in  his  last  sermon  that  not 
even  a  sparrow  falls  to  the  ground  unmarked 
of  God?  There  was  a  definite  strength  in 
this  suggestion.  He  felt  less  lonely  as  he 
stared  resolutely  at  the  big  blue  sky.  There 
came  into  his  heart  a  sense  of  encouragement, 
of  hope. 

He  would  keep  up  as  long  and  as  bravely 
as  he  could,  and  if  the  worst  should  come,  — 
was  he  indeed  so  solitary?  He  would  hold 
in  remembrance  the  sparrow's  fall. 

He  had  so  nerved  himself  to  meet  his  fate 
that  he  thought  it  was  a  fancy  when  he  heard 
a  distant  step.  But  it  did  not  die  away,  it 
grew  more  and  more  distinct,  —  a  shambling 
step,  that  curiously  stopped  at  intervals  and 
kicked  the  fallen  leaves. 


AMONG  THE  CLIFFS  193 

He  sought  to  call  out,  but  he  seemed  to 
have  lost  his  voice.  Not  a  sound  issued  from 
his  thickened  tongue  and  his  dry  throat.  The 
step  came  nearer.  It  would  presently  pass. 
With  a  mighty  effort  Ethan  sent  forth  a  wild, 
hoarse  cry. 

The  rocks  reverberated  it,  the  wind  carried 
it  far,  and  certainly  there  was  an  echo  of  its 
despair  and  terror  in  a  shrill  scream  set  up  on 
the  verge  of  the  crag.  Then  Ethan  heard 
the  shambling  step  scampering  off  very  fast 
indeed. 

The  truth  flashed  upon  him.  It  was  some 
child,  passing  on  an  unimaginable  errand 
through  the  deep  woods,  frightened  by  his 
sudden  cry. 

"Stop,  bubby!"  he  shouted;  "stop  a 
minute !  It  's  Ethan  Tynes  that  's  callin'  of 
ye.  Stop  a  minute,  bubby  !  " 

The  step  paused  at  a  safe  distance,  and  the 
shrill  pipe  of  a  little  boy  demanded,  "  Whar 
is  ye,  Ethan  Tynes  ?  " 

"  I  'm  down  hyar  on  the  ledge  o'  the  bluff. 
Who  air  ye  ennyhow  ?  " 


194  AMONG  THE  CLIFFS 

"  George  Birt,"  promptly  replied  the  little 
boy.  "  What  air  ye  doin'  down  thar  ?  I 
thought  it  war  Satan  a-callin'  of  me.  I  never 
seen  nobody." 

"  I  kem  down  hyar  on  vines  arter  a  tur-r- 
key  I  shot.  The  vines  bruk,  an'  I  hev  got 
no  way  ter  git  up  agin.  I  want  ye  ter  go  ter 
yer  mother's  house,  an'  tell  yer  brother  Pete 
ter  bring  a  rope  hyar  fur  me  ter  climb  up 

V 

Ethan  expected  to  hear  the  shambling  step 
going  away  with  a  celerity  proportionate  to 
the  importance  of  the  errand.  On  the  con 
trary,  the  step  was  approaching  the  crag. 

A  moment  of  suspense,  and  there  appeared 
among  the  jagged  ends  of  the  broken  vines 
a  small  red  head,  a  deeply  freckled  face,  and 
a  pair  of  sharp,  eager  blue  eyes.  George  Birt 
had  carefully  laid  himself  down  on  his 
stomach,  only  protruding  his  head  beyond  the 
verge  of  the  crag,  that  he  might  not  fling 
away  his  life  in  his  curiosity. 

"Did  ye  git  it?"  he  asked,  with  bated 
breath. 


AMONG  THE  CLIFFS  195 

"  Git  what  ?  "  demanded  poor  Ethan,  sur 
prised  and  impatient. 

"  The  tur-r-key  —  what  ye  hev  done  been 
talkin'  'bout/'  said  George  Birt. 

Ethan  had  lost  all  interest  in  the  turkey. 
"  Yes,  yes ;  but  run  along,  bub.  I  mought 
fah1  off'n  this  hyar  place,  —  I  'm  gittin'  stiff 
sittin'  still  so  long,  —  or  the  wind  mought 
blow  me  off.  The  wind  is  blowin'  toler'ble 
brief." 

"  Gobbler  or  hen  ? "  asked  George  Birt 
eagerly. 

"  It  air  a  hen,"  said  Ethan.  "  But  look- 
a-hyar,  George,  I  'm  a-waitin'  on  ye,  an'  ef 
I  'd  fall  off'n  this  hyar  place,  I  'd  be  ez  dead 
ez  a  door-nail  in  a  minute." 

"  Waal,  I  'm  goin'  now,"  said  George  Birt, 
with  gratifying  alacrity.  He  raised  himself 
from  his  recumbent  position,  and  Ethan  heard 
him  shambling  off,  kicking  every  now  and 
then  at  the  faUen  leaves  as  he  went. 

Presently,  however,  he  turned  and  walked 
back  nearly  to  the  brink  of  the  cliff.  Then 
he  prostrated  himself  once  more  at  full 


196  AMONG  THE  CLIFFS 

length,  —  for  the  mountain  children  are  very 
careful  of  the  precipices,  —  snaked  along 
dexterously  to  the  verge  of  the  crag,  and 
protruding  his  red  head  cautiously,  began 
to  parley  once  more,  trading  on  Ethan's  ne 
cessities. 

"  Ef  I  go  on  this  yerrand  fur  ye,"  he  said, 
looking  very  sharp  indeed,  "will  ye  gimme 
one  o'  the  whings  of  that  thar  wild  tur-r- 
key?" 

He  coveted  the  wing-feathers,  not  the  joint 
of  the  fowl.  The  "  whing  "  of  the  domestic 
turkey  is  used  by  the  mountain  women  as  a 
fan,  and  is  considered  an  elegance  as  well  as 
a  comfort.  George  Birt  aped  the  customs  of 
his  elders,  regardless  of  sex,  —  a  characteristic 
of  very  small  boys. 

"  Oh,  go  'long,  bubby  !  "  exclaimed  poor 
Ethan,  in  dismay  at  the  dilatoriness  and  in 
difference  of  his  unique  deliverer.  "  I  '11 
give  ye  both  o'  the  whings."  He  would  have 
offered  the  turkey  willingly,  if  "  bubby  "  had 
seemed  to  crave  it. 

"  Waal,  I  'm  goin'  now." 


AMONG  THE  CLIFFS  197 

George  Birt  rose  from  the  ground  and 
started  off  briskly,  exhilarated  by  the  promise 
of  both  the  "  whings." 

Ethan  was  angry  indeed  when  he  heard  the 
boy  once  more  shambling  back.  Of  course 
one  should  regard  a  deliverer  with  gratitude, 
especially  a  deliverer  from  mortal  peril ;  but  it 
may  be  doubted  if  Ethan's  gratitude  would 
have  been  great  enough  to  insure  that  small 
red  head  against  a  vigorous  rap,  if  it  had  been 
within  rapping  distance,  when  it  was  once 
more  cautiously  protruded  over  the  verge  of 
the  cliff. 

"  I  kem  back  hyar  ter  tell  ye,"  the  doughty 
deliverer  began,  with  an  air  of  great  impor 
tance,  and  magnifying  his  office  with  an  ex 
treme  relish,  "  that  I  can't  go  an'  tell  Pete 
'bout'n  the  rope  till  I  hev  done  kem  back 
from  the  mill.  I  hev  got  old  Sorrel  hitched 
out  hyar  a  piece,  with  a  bag  o'  corn  on  his 
back,  what  I  hev  ter  git  ground  at  the  mill. 
My  mother  air  a-settin'  at  home  now  a-waitin' 
fur  that  thar  corn-meal  ter  bake  dodgers  with. 
An'  I  hev  got  a  dime  ter  pay  at  the  mill; 


198  AMONG  THE  CLIFFS 

it  war  lent  ter  my  dad  las'  week.  An'  I  'm 
afeard  ter  walk  about  much  with  this  hyar 
dime;  I  mought  lose  it,  ye  know.  An'  I 
can't  go  home  'thout  the  meal  ;  I  '11  ketch  it 
ef  I  do.  But  I  '11  tell  Pete  arter  I  git  back 
from  the  mill." 

"  The  mill ! "  echoed  Ethan,  aghast.  "  What 
air  ye  doin'  on  this  side  o'  the  mounting,  ef 
ye  air  a-goin'  ter  the  mill?  This  ain't  the 
way  ter  the  mill." 

"  I  kem  over  hyar,"  said  the  little  boy,  still 
with  much  importance  of  manner,  notwith 
standing  a  slight  suggestion  of  embarrassment 
on  his  freckled  face,  "  ter  see  'bout'n  a  trap 
that  I  hev  sot  fur  squir'ls.  I  '11  see  'bout  my 
trap,  an'  then  I  hev  ter  go  ter  the  mill,  'kase 
my  mother  air  a-settin'  in  our  house  now 
a-waitin'  fur  meal  ter  bake  corn-dodgers. 
Then  I  '11  tell  Pete  whar  ye  air,  an'  what  ye 
said  'bout'n  the  rope.  Ye  must  jes'  wait  fur 
me  hyar." 

Poor  Ethan  could  do  nothing  else. 

As  the  echo  of  the  boy's  shambling  step 
died  in  the  distance,  a  redoubled  sense  of 


AMONG  THE  CLIFFS  199 

loneliness  fell  upon  Ethan  Tynes.  But  he 
endeavored  to  solace  himself  with  the  reflec 
tion  that  the  important  mission  to  the  squirrel- 
trap  and  the  errand  to  the  mill  could  not  last 
forever,  and  before  a  great  while  Peter  Birt 
and  his  rope  would  be  upon  the  crag. 

This  idea  buoyed  him  up  as  the  hours  crept 
slowly  by.  Now  and  then  he  lifted  his  head 
and  listened  with  painful  intentness.  He  felt 
stiff  in  every  muscle,  and  yet  he  had  a  dread 
of  making  an  effort  to  change  his  constrained 
position.  He  might  lose  control  of  his  rigid 
limbs,  and  fall  into  those  dread  depths  be 
neath. 

His  patience  at  last  began  to  give  way. 
His  heart  was  sinking.  His  messenger  had 
been  even  more  dilatory  than  he  was  prepared 
to  expect.  Why  did  not  Pete  come?  Was 
it  possible  that  George  had  forgotten  to  tell 
of  his  danger  ? 

The  sun  was  going  down,  leaving  a  great 
glory  of  gold  and  crimson  clouds  and  an 
opaline  haze  upon  the  purple  mountains.  The 
last  rays  fell  on  the  bronze  feathers  of  the 


200  AMONG  THE  CLIFFS 

turkey  still  lying  tied  to  the  broken  vines  on 
the  ledge. 

And  now  there  were  only  frowning  masses 
of  dark  clouds  in  the  west ;  and  there  were 
frowning  masses  of  clouds  overhead. 

The  shadow  of  the  coming  night  had  fallen 
on  the  autumnal  foliage  in  the  deep  valley ; 
in  the  place  of  the  opaline  haze  was  only  a 
gray  mist. 

And  now  came,  sweeping  along  between 
the  parallel  mountain  ranges,  a  sombre  rain- 
cloud.  The  lad  could  hear  the  heavy  drops 
splashing  on  the  treetops  in  the  valley,  long, 
long  before  he  felt  them  on  his  head. 

The  roll  of  thunder  sounded  among  the 
crags.  Then  the  rain  came  down  tumultu- 
ously,  not  in  columns,  but  in  livid  sheets. 
The  lightnings  rent  the  sky,  showing,  as  it 
seemed  to  him,  glimpses  of  the  glorious 
brightness  within,  —  too  bright  for  human 


He  clung  desperately  to  his  precarious 
perch.  Now  and  then  a  fierce  rush  of  wind 
almost  tore  him  from  it.  Strange  fancies 


AMONG  THE  CLIFFS  201 

beset  him.  The  air  was  full  of  that  wild 
symphony  of  nature,  the  wind  and  the  rain, 
the  pealing  thunder,  and  the  thunderous  echo 
among  the  cliffs,  and  yet  he  thought  he  could 
hear  his  own  name  ringing  again  and  again 
through  all  the  tumult,  sometimes  in  Pete's 
voice,  sometimes  in  George's  shrill  tones. 

He  became  vaguely  aware,  after  a  tune, 
that  the  rain  had  ceased,  and  the  moon  was 
beginning  to  shine  through  rifts  in  the  clouds. 

The  wind  continued  unabated,  but,  curi 
ously  enough,  he  could  not  hear  it  now.  He 
could  hear  nothing ;  he  could  think  of  no 
thing.  His  consciousness  was  beginning  to 
fail. 

George  Birt  had  indeed  forgotten  him,  — 
forgotten  even  the  promised  "  whings."  Not 
that  he  had  discovered  anything  so  extraor 
dinary  in  his  trap,  for  his  trap  was  empty,  but 
when  he  reached  the  mill,  he  found  that  the 
miller  had  killed  a  bear  and  captured  a  cub, 
and  the  orphan,  chained  to  a  post,  had  deeply 
absorbed  George  Birt's  attention. 

To  sophisticated  people,  the  boy  might  have 


202  AMONG   THE  CLIFFS 

seemed  as  grotesque  as  the  cub.  George  wore 
an  unbleached  cotton  shirt.  The  waistband 
of  his  baggy  jeans  trousers  encircled  his 
body  just  beneath  his  armpits,  reaching  to 
his  shoulder-blades  behind,  and  nearly  to  his 
collar-bone  in  front.  His  red  head  was  only 
partly  covered  by  a  fragment  of  an  old  white 
wool  hat ;  and  he  looked  at  the  cub  with  a 
curiosity  as  intense  as  that  with  which  the 
cub  looked  at  him.  Each  was  taking  first 
lessons  in  natural  history. 

As  long  as  there  was  daylight  enough  left 
to  see  that  cub,  did  George  Birt  stand  and 
stare  at  the  little  beast.  Then  he  clattered 
home  on  old  Sorrel  in  the  closing  darkness, 
looking  like  a  very  small  pin  on  the  top  of  a 
large  pincushion. 

At  home,  he  found  the  elders  unreasonable, 
—  as  elders  usually  are  considered.  Supper 
had  been  waiting  an  hour  or  so  for  the  lack 
of  meal  for  dodgers.  He  "  caught  it "  con 
siderably,  but  not  sufficiently  to  impair  his 
appetite  for  the  dodgers.  After  all  this,  he 
was  ready  enough  for  bed  when  small  boy's 


AMONG  THE  CLIFFS  203 

bedtime  came.  But  as  he  was  nodding  be 
fore  the  fire,  he  heard  a  word  that  roused  him 
to  a  new  excitement. 

"  These  hyar  chips  air  so  wet  they  won't 
burn/'  said  his  mother.  "  I  '11  take  my  tur-r- 
key  whing  an'  fan  the  fire." 

"  Law  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Thar,  now  ! 
Ethan  Tynes  never  gimme  that  thar  wild 
tur-r-key's  whings  like  he  promised." 

"  Whar  did  ye  happen  ter  see  Ethan  ?  " 
asked  Pete,  interested  in  his  friend. 

"  Seen  him  in  the  woods,  an'  he  promised 
me  the  tur-r-key  whings." 

"  What  fur  ?  "  inquired  Pete,  a  little  sur 
prised  by  this  uncalled-for  generosity. 

"  Waal,"  —  there  was  an  expression  of  em 
barrassment  on  the  important  freckled  face, 
and  the  small  red  head  nodded  forward  in 
an  explanatory  manner,  —  "  he  fell  off'n  the 
bluffs  arter  the  tur-r-key  whings  —  I  mean, 
he  went  down  to  the  ledge  arter  the  tur-r-key, 
and  the  vines  bruk  an'  he  could  n't  git  up  no 
more.  An'  he  tole  me  that  ef  I  'd  tell  ye  ter 
fotch  him  a  rope  ter  pull  up  by,  he  would 


204  AMONG   THE  CLIFFS 

gimme  the  wirings.  That  happened  a  —  leetle 
—  while  —  arter  dinner-time." 

"  Who  got  him  a  rope  ter  pull  up  by  ?  " 
demanded  Pete. 

There  was  again  on  the  important  face 
that  indescribable  shade  of  embarrassment. 
"  Waal/'  — the  youngster  balanced  this  word 
judicially,  —  "I  forgot  'bout'n  the  tur-r-key 
whings  till  this  minute.  I  reckon  he  's  thar 
yit." 

"  Mebbe  this  hyar  wind  an'  rain  hev  beat 
him  offn  the  ledge!"  exclaimed  Pete,  ap 
palled,  and  rising  hastily.  "  I  tell  ye  now," 
he  added,  turning  to  his  mother,  "  the  best 
use  ye  kin  make  o'  that  thar  boy  is  ter  put 
him  on  the  fire  fur  a  back-log." 

Pete  made  his  preparations  in  great  haste. 
He  took  the  rope  from  the  well,  asked  the 
crestfallen  and  browbeaten  junior  a  question 
or  two  relative  to  locality,  mounted  old  Sor 
rel  without  a  saddle,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
was  galloping  at  headlong  speed  through  the 
night. 

The  rain  was  over   by   the   time   he   had 


AMONG  THE  CLIFFS  205 

reached  the  sulphur  spring  to  which  George 
had  directed  him,  but  the  wind  was  still  high, 
and  the  broken  clouds  were  driving  fast 
across  the  face  of  the  moon. 

When  he  had  hitched  his  horse  to  a  tree, 
and  set  out  on  foot  to  find  the  cliff,  the  moon 
beams,  though  brilliant,  were  so  intermittent 
that  his  progress  was  fitful  and  necessarily 
cautious.  When  the  disk  shone  out  full  and 
clear,  he  made  his  way  rapidly  enough,  but 
when  the  clouds  intervened,  he  stood  still  and 
waited. 

"I  ain't  goin'  ter  fall  off'n  the  bluff  'thout 
knowin'  it,"  he  said  to  himself,  in  one  of  these 
eclipses,  "  ef  I  hev  ter  stand  hyar  aU  night." 

The  moonlight  was  brilliant  and  steady 
when  he  reached  the  verge  of  the  crag.  He 
identified  the  spot  by  the  mass  of  broken 
vines,  and  more  indubitably  by  Ethan's  rifle 
lying  upon  the  ground  just  at  his  feet.  He 
called,  but  received  no  response. 

"  Hev  Ethan  feU  off,  sure  enough  ? "  he 
asked  himself,  in  great  dismay  and  alarm. 
Then  he  shouted  again  and  again.  At  last 


206  AMONG  THE  CLIFFS 

there  came  an  answer,  as  though  the  speaker 
had  just  awaked. 

"  Pretty  nigh  beat  out,  I  'm  a-thinkin' !  " 
commented  Pete.  He  tied  one  end  of  the 
cord  around  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  knotted  it  at 
intervals,  and  flung  it  over  the  bluff. 

At  first  Ethan  was  almost  afraid  to  stir. 
He  slowly  put  forth  his  hand  and  grasped 
the  rope.  Then,  his  heart  beating  tumultu- 
ously,  he  rose  to  his  feet. 

He  stood  still  for  an  instant  to  steady  him 
self  and  get  his  breath.  Nerving  himself  for 
a  strong  effort,  he  began  the  ascent,  hand 
over  hand,  up,  and  up,  and  up,  till  once  more 
he  stood  upon  the  crest  of  the  crag. 

And,  now  that  all  danger  was  over,  Pete 
was  disposed  to  scold.  "  I  'm  a-thinkin'," 
said  Pete  severely,  "  ez  thar  ain't  a  critter  on 
this  hyar  mounting,  from  a  b'ar  ter  a  copper 
head,  that  could  hev  got  in  sech  a  fix,  'ceptin' 
ye,  Ethan  Tynes." 

And  Ethan  was  silent. 

"  What  's  this  hyar  thing  at  the  e-end 
o'  the  rope?"  asked  Pete,  as  he  began  to 


AMONG  THE  CLIFFS  207 

draw  the  cord  up,  and  felt  a  weight  still  sus 
pended. 

"  It  air  the  tur-r-key,"  said  Ethan  meekly. 
"  I  tied  her  ter  the  e-end  o'  the  rope  afore  I 
kem  up." 

"  Waal,  sir  !  "  exclaimed  Pete,  in  indignant 
surprise. 

And  George,  for  duty  performed,  was 
remunerated  with  the  two  "  whings,"  although 
it  still  remains  a  question  in  the  mind  of 
Ethan  whether  or  not  he  deserved  them. 


IN  THE  "CHINKING" 

NOT  far  from  an  abrupt  precipice  on  a 
certain  great  mountain  spur  there  stands  in 
the  midst  of  the  red  and  yellow  autumn 
woods  a  little  log  "  church-house."  The  nuts 
rattle  noisily  down  on  its  roof ;  sometimes 
during  "  evenin'  preachin'  "  —  which  takes 
place  in  the  afternoon  —  a  flying-squirrel 
frisks  near  the  window;  the  hymns  echo 
softly,  softly,  from  the  hazy  sunlit  heights 
across  the  valley. 

"  That  air  the  doxol'gy,"  said  Tom  Brent, 
one  day,  pausing  to  listen  among  the  wagons 
and  horses  hitched  outside.  He  was  about 
to  follow  home  his  father's  mare,  that  had 
broken  loose  and  galloped  off  through  the 
woods,  but  as  he  glanced  back  at  the  church, 
a  sudden  thought  struck  him.  He  caught 
sight  of  the  end  of  little  Jim  Coggin's  com 
forter  flaunting  out  through  the  "  chinking," 


/AT  THE  "  CHINKING  "  209 

—  as  the  mountaineers  call  the  series  of  short 
slats  which  are  set  diagonally  in  the  spaces 
between  the  logs  of  the  walls,  and  on  which 
the  clay  is  thickly  daubed.  This  work  had 
been  badly  done,  and  in  many  places  the 
daubing  had  fallen  away.  Thus  it  was  that 
as  Jim  Coggin  sat  within  the  church,  the  end 
of  his  plaid  comforter  had  slipped  through 
the  chinking  and  was  waving  in  the  wind 
outside. 

Now  Jim  had  found  the  weather  still  too 
warm  for  his  heavy  jeans  jacket,  but  he  was 
too  cool  without  it,  and  he  had  ingeniously 
compromised  the  difficulty  by  wearing  his 
comforter  in  this  unique  manner,  —  laying  it 
on  his  shoulders,  crossing  it  over  the  chest, 
passing  it  under  the  arms,  and  tying  it  in  a 
knot  between  the  shoulder-blades.  Tom  re 
membered  this  with  a  grin  as  he  slyly  crept 
up  to  the  house,  and  it  was  only  the  work 
of  a  moment  to  draw  that  knot  through  the 
chinking  and  secure  it  firmly  to  a  sumach 
bush  that  grew  near  at  hand. 

It  never  occurred  to  him  that  the  resound- 


210  IN  THE  "  CHINKING  " 

ing  doxology  could  fail  to  rouse  that  small, 
tow-headed,  freckle-faced  boy,  or  that  the 
congregation  might  slowly  disperse  without 
noticing  him  as  he  sat  motionless  and  asleep 
in  the  dark  shadow. 

The  sun  slipped  down  into  the  red  west ; 
the  blue  mountains  turned  purple ;  heavy 
clouds  gathered,  and  within  three  miles  there 
was  no  other  human  creature  when  Jim  sud 
denly  woke  to  the  darkness  and  the  storm 
and  the  terrible  loneliness. 

Where  was  he  ?  He  tried  to  rise  :  he 
could  not  move.  Bewildered,  he  struggled 
and  tugged  at  his  harness,  —  all  in  vain.  As 
he  realized  the  situation,  he  burst  into  tears. 

"  Them  home-folks  o'  mine  won't  kem  hyar 
ter  s'arch  fur  me,"  he  cried  desperately,  "  kase 
I  tole  my  mother  ez  how  I  war  a-goin'  ter  dust 
down  the  mounting  ter  Aunt  Jerushy's  house 
ez  soon  ez  meet'n'  war  out  an'  stay  all  night 
along  o'  her  boys." 

Still  he  tried  to  comfort  himself  by  reflect 
ing  that  it  was  not  so  bad  as  it  might  have 
been.  There  was  no  danger  that  he  would 


IN  THE  "CHINKING"  211 

have  to  starve  and  pine  here  till  next  Sunday, 
for  a  "  protracted  meeting  "  was  in  progress, 
service  was  held  every  day,  and  the  congre 
gation  would  return  to-morrow,  which  was 
Thursday. 

His  philosophy,  however,  was  short-lived, 
for  the  sudden  lightning  rent  the  clouds,  and 
a  terrific  peal  of  thunder  echoed  among  the 
cliffs. 

"  The  storm  air  a-comin'  up  the  mount 
ing  ! "  he  exclaimed,  in  vivacious  protest. 
"  An'  ef  this  hrief  wind  war  ter  whurl  the 
old  church-house  off'n  the  bluff  an'  down 
inter  the  valley  whar-r  —  would  —  I  —  be  ?  " 

All  at  once  the  porch  creaked  beneath  a 
heavy  tread.  A  clumsy  hand  was  fumbling 
at  the  door.  "  Strike  a  light,"  said  a  gruff 
voice  without. 

As  a  lantern  was  thrust  in,  Jim  was  about 
to  speak,  but  the  words  froze  upon  his  lips 
for  fear  when  a  man  strode  heavily  over  the 
threshold  and  he  caught  the  expression  of  his 
face. 

It  was  an  evil  face,  red  and  bloated  and 


212  IN  THE  "  CHINKING  " 

brutish.  He  had  small,  malicious,  twinkling 
eyes,  and  a  shock  of  sandy  hair.  A  suit  of 
copper-colored  jeans  hung  loosely  on  his  tall, 
lank  frame,  and  when  he  placed  the  lantern 
on  a  bench  and  stretched  out  both  arms  as  if 
he  were  tired,  he  showed  that  his  left  hand 
was  maimed,  —  the  thumb  had  been  cut  off  at 
the  first  joint. 

A  thickset,  short,  swaggering  man  tramped 
in  after  him. 

"  Waal,  Amos  Brierwood,"  he  said,  "  it 's 
safes'  fur  us  ter  part.  We  oughter  be  fur 
enough  from  hyar  by  daybreak.  Divide  that 
thar  traveler's  money  —  hey  ?  " 

They  carefully  closed  the  rude  shutters, 
barred  the  door,  and  sat  down  on  the  "  mourn 
ers'  bench,"  neither  having  noticed  the  small 
boy  at  the  other  end  of  the  room. 

Poor  Jim,  his  arms  akimbo  and  half-cov 
ered  by  his  comforter,  stuck  to  the  wall  like 
a  plaid  bat,  —  if  such  a  natural  curiosity  is 
imaginable,  —  feverishly  hoping  that  the  men 
might  go  without  seeing  him  at  all. 

For   surely  no   human  creature   could   be 


IN  THE  "  CHINKING  "  213 

more  abhorrent,  more  incredibly  odious  of 
aspect,  than  Amos  Brierwood  as  he  sat  there, 
his  red,  brutish  face  redder  still  with  a  malign 
pleasure,  his  malicious  eyes  gloating  over  the 
rolls  of  money  which  he  drew  from  a  pocket- 
book  stolen  from  some  waylaid  traveler, 
snapping  his  fingers  in  exultation  when  the 
amount  of  the  bills  exceeded  his  expectation. 

The  leaves  without  were  fitfully  astir,  and 
once  the  porch  creaked  suddenly.  Brierwood 
glanced  at  the  door  sharply,  —  even  fear 
fully,  —  his  hand  motionless  on  the  rolls  of 
money. 

"  Only  the  wind,  Amos,  only  the  wind  ! " 
said  the  short,  stout  man  impatiently. 

But  he,  himself,  was  disquieted  the  next 
moment  when  a  horse  neighed  shrilly. 

"  That  ain't  my  beastis,  Amos,  nor  yit 
your'n  !  "  he  cried,  starting  up. 

"  It  air  the  traveler's,  ye  sodden  idjit  !  " 
said  Brierwood,  lifting  his  uncouth  foot  and 
giving  him  a  jocose  kick. 

But  the  short  man  was  not  satisfied.  He 
rose,  went  outside,  and  Jim  could  hear  him 


214  IN  THE  "CHINKING" 

beating  about  among  the  bushes.  Presently 
he  came  in  again.  "  'T  war  the  traveler's 
critter,  I  reckon;  an'  that  critter  an'  saddle 
oughter  be  counted  in  my  sheer." 

Then  they  fell  to  disputing  and  quarreling, 
—  once  they  almost  fought,  —  but  at  length 
the  division  was  made  and  they  rose  to  go. 
As  Brierwood  swung  his  lantern  round,  his 
malicious  eyes  fell  upon  the  poor  little  plaid 
bat  sticking  against  the  wall. 

He  stood  in  the  door  staring,  dumfounded 
for  a  moment.  Then  he  clenched  his  fist, 
and  shook  it  fiercely.  "  How  did  ye  happen 
ter  be  hyar  this  time  o'  the  night,  ye  limb  o' 
Satan  ?  "  he  cried. 

"  Dunno,"  faltered  poor  Jim. 

The  other  man  had  returned  too.  "  Waal, 
sir,  ef  that  thar  boy  hed  been  a  copper-head 
now,  he  'd  hev  bit  us,  sure  !  " 

"  He  mought  do  that  yit"  said  Amos  Brier- 
wood,  with  grim  significance.  "  He  hev  been 
thar  ah1  this  time,  —  'kase  he  air  tied  thar, 
don't  ye  see  ?  An'  he  hev  eyes,  an'  he  hev 
ears.  What  air  ter  hender  ?  " 


IN  THE  "  CHINKING  "  215 

The  other  man's  face  turned  pale,  and  Jim 
thought  that  they  were  afraid  he  would  tell 
all  he  had  seen  and  heard.  The  manner  of 
both  had  changed,  too.  They  had  a  skulk 
ing,  nervous  way  with  them  now  in  place  of 
the  coarse  bravado  that  had  characterized 
them  hitherto. 

Amos  Brier  wood  pondered  for  a  few  min 
utes.  Then  he  sullenly  demanded,  — 

"  What 's  yer  name  ?  " 

"  It  air  Jeemes  Coggin,"  quavered  the  little 
boy. 

"  Coggin,  hey  ?  "  exclaimed  Brierwood,  with 
a  new  idea  bringing  back  the  malicious  twin 
kle  to  his  eyes.  He  laughed  as  though 
mightily  relieved,  and  threw  up  his  left  hand 
and  shook  it  exultingly. 

The  shadow  on  the  dark  wall  of  that 
maimed  hand  with  only  the  stump  of  a  thumb 
was  a  weird,  a  horrible  thing  to  the  child. 
He  had  no  idea  that  his  constant  notice  of  it 
would  stamp  it  in  his  memory,  and  that  some 
thing  would  come  of  this  fact.  He  was  glad 
when  the  shadow  ceased  to  writhe  and  twist 


216  IN  THE  "  CHINKING  " 

upon  the  wall,  and  the  man  dropped  his  arm 
to  his  side  again. 

"What's  a-brewin',  Amos?"  asked  the 
other,  who  had  been  watching  Brierwood 
curiously. 

They  whispered  aside  for  a  few  moments, 
at  first  anxiously  and  then  with  wild  guffaws 
of  satisfaction.  When  they  approached  the 
boy,  their  manner  had  changed  once  more. 

"  Waal,  I  declar,  bubby,"  said  Brierwood 
agreeably,  "  this  hyar  fix  ez  ye  hev  got  inter 
air  satef ul  fur  true !  It  air  enough  ter  sot 
enny  boy  on  the  mounting  cat-a-wampus. 
'T  war  a  good  thing  ez  we-uns  happened  ter 
kem  by  hyar  on  our  way  from  the  tan-yard 
way  down  yander  in  the  valley  whar  we-uns 
hev  been  ter  git  paid  up  fur  workin'  thar 
some.  We  '11  let  ye  out.  Who  done  yer  this 
hyar  trick?" 

"  Dunno  —  witches,  I  reckon  !  "  cried  poor 
Jim,  bursting  into  tears. 

"  Witches !  "  the  man  exclaimed,  "  the 
woods  air  a-roamin'  with  'em  this  time  o'  the 
year ;  bein',  ye  see,  ez  they  kem  ter  feed  on 
the  mast." 


IN  THE  "CHINKING"  217 

He  chuckled  as  he  said  this,  perhaps  at  the 
boy's  evident  terror,  —  for  Jim  was  sorrow 
fully  superstitious,  —  perhaps  because  he  had 
managed  to  cut  unnoticed  a  large  fragment 
from  the  end  of  the  comforter.  This  he 
stuffed  into  his  own  pocket  as  he  talked  on 
about  two  witches,  whom  he  said  he  had  met 
that  afternoon  under  an  oak-tree  feeding  on 
acorns. 

"  An'  now,  I  kem  ter  remind  myself  that 
them  witches  war  inquirin'  round  'bout'n  a 
boy  —  war  his  name  Jeemes  Coggin  ?  Le'  's 
see  !  That  boy's  name  war  Jeemes  Coggin  !  " 

While  Jim  stood  breathlessly,  intently  lis 
tening,  Brierwood  had  twisted  something  into 
the  folds  of  his  comforter  so  dexterously  that 
unless  this  were  untied  it  would  not  fall ;  it 
was  a  silk  handkerchief  of  a  style  never  before 
seen  in  the  mountains,  and  he  had  made  a 
knot  hard  and  fast  in  one  corner. 

"  Thar,  now  ! "  he  exclaimed,  holding  up 
the  fragment  of  knitted  yarn,  "  I  hev  tore 
yer  comforter.  Never  mind,  bubby,  't  war 
tore  afore.  But  it  '11  do  ter  wrop  up  this 


218  IN  THE  "  CHINKING  " 

money-purse  what  b'longs  ter  yer  dad.  He 
lef '  it  hid  in  the  chinking  o'  the  wall  over 
yander  close  ter  whar  I  war  sittin'  when  I  fust 
kem  in.  I  '11  put  it  back  thar,  'kase  yer  dad 
don't  want  nobody  ter  know  whar  it  air  hid." 

He  strode  across  the  room  and  concealed 
the  empty  pocket-book  in  the  chinking. 

"  Ef  ye  won't  tell  who  teched  it,  I  '11  gin  a 
good  word  fur  ye  ter  them  witches  what  war 
inquirin'  round  fur  ye  ter-day." 

Jim  promised  in  hot  haste,  and  then,  the 
rain  having  ceased,  he  started  for  home,  but 
Brierwood  stopped  him  at  the  door. 

"  Hold  on  thar,  bub.  I  kem  mighty  nigh 
furgittin'  ter  let  ye  know  ez  I  seen  yer  bro 
ther  Alf  awhile  back,  an'  he  axed  me  ter  git 
ye  ter  go  by  Tom  Brent's  house,  an'  tell  Tom 
ter  meet  him  up  the  road  a  piece  by  that  thar 
big  sulphur  spring.  Will  ye  gin  Tom  that 
message  ?  Tell  him  Alf  said  ter  come  quick." 

Once  more  Jim  promised. 

The  two  men  holding  the  lantern  out  in  the 
porch  watched  him  as  he  pounded  down  the 
dark  road,  his  tow  hair  sticking  out  of  his 


IN  THE  "  CHINKING  "  219 

tattered  black  hat,  the  ends  of  his  comforter 
flaunting  in  the  breeze,  and  every  gesture 
showing  the  agitated  haste  of  a  witch-scared 
boy.  Then  they  looked  at  each  other  sig 
nificantly,  and  laughed  loud  and  long. 

"  He  '11  tell  sech  a  crooked  tale  ter-morrer 
that  Alf  Coggin  an'  his  dad  will  see  sights 
along  o'  that  traveler's  money ! "  said  Brier- 
wood,  gloating  over  his  sharp  management  as 
he  and  his  accomplice  mounted  their  horses 
and  rode  off  in  opposite  directions. 

When  Jim  reached  Tom  Brent's  house,  and 
knocked  at  the  door,  he  was  so  absorbed  in 
his  terrors  that,  as  it  opened,  he  said  nothing 
for  a  moment.  He  could  see  the  family  group 
within.  Tom's  father  was  placidly  smoking. 
His  palsied  "  gran'dad  "  shook  in  his  chair  in 
the  chimney-corner  as  he  told  the  wide-eyed 
boys  big  tales  about  the  "  Injuns  "  that  har 
ried  the  early  settlers  in  Tennessee. 

"  Tom,"  Jim  said,  glancing  up  at  the  big 
boy,  —  "  Tom,  thar  's  a  witch  waitin'  fur  ye 
at  the  sulphur  spring !  Go  thar,  quick !  " 

"  Not  ef  I  knows  what 's  good  fur  me  !  " 


220  IN  THE  "  CHINKING  " 

protested  Tom,  with  a  great  horse-laugh. 
"What  ails  ye,  boy?  Ye  talk  like  ye  war 
teched  in  the  head  !  " 

"I  went  ter  say  ez  Alf  Coggin  air  thar 
waitin'  fur  ye/'  Jim  began  again,  nodding  his 
slandered  head  with  great  solemnity,  "an' 
tole  me  ter  tell  ye  ter  kem  thar  quick." 

He  took  no  heed  of  the  inaccuracy  of  the 
message ;  he  was  glancing  fearfully  over  his 
shoulder,  and  the  next  minute  scuttled  down 
the  road  in  a  bee-line  for  home. 

Tom  hurried  off  briskly  through  the  woods. 
"  Waal,  sir !  I  'm  mighty  nigh  crazed  ter 
know  what  Alf  Coggin  kin  want  o'  me  ;  goin' 
coon-huntin',  mebbe,"  he  speculated,  as  he 
drew  within  sight  of  an  old  lightning-scathed 
tree  which  stood  beside  the  sulphur  spring 
and  stretched  up,  stark  and  white,  in  the  dim 
light. 

The  clouds  were  blowing  away  from  a 
densely  instarred  sky ;  the  moon  was  hardly 
more  than  a  crescent  and  dipping  low  in  the 
west,  but  he  could  see  the  sombre  outline  of 
the  opposite  mountain,  and  the  white  mists 


IN  THE  "  CHINKING  "  221 

that  shifted  in  a  ghostly  and  elusive  fashion 
along  the  summit.  The  night  was  still,  save 
for  a  late  katydid,  spared  by  the  frost,  and 
piping  shrilly. 

He  experienced  a  terrible  shock  of  surprise 
when  a  sudden  voice  —  a  voice  he  had  never 
heard  before  —  cried  out  sharply,  "  Hello 
there  !  Help  !  help  !  " 

As  he  pressed  tremulously  forward,  he  be 
held  a  sight  which  made  him  ask  himself  if  it 
were  possible  that  Alf  Coggin  had  sent  for 
him  to  join  in  some  nefarious  work  which  had 
ended  in  leaving  a  man  —  a  stranger  —  bound 
to  the  old  lightning-scathed  tree. 

Even  in  the  uncertain  light  Tom  could  see 
that  he  was  pallid  and  panting,  evidently 
exhausted  in  some  desperate  struggle  :  there 
was  blood  on  his  face,  his  clothes  were  torn, 
and  by  all  odds  he  was  the  angriest  man  that 
was  ever  waylaid  and  robbed. 

"  Ter-morrer  he  '11  be  jes'  a-swoopin'  !  " 
thought  Tom,  tremulously  untying  the  com 
plicated  knots,  and  listening  to  his  threats  of 
vengeance  on  the  unknown  robbers,  "  an'  every 


222  IN  THE  "  CHINKING  " 

critter  on  the  mounting  will  git  a  clutch  from 
his  claws." 

And  in  fact,  it  was  hardly  daybreak  before 
the  constable  of  the  district,  who  lived  hard 
by  in  the  valley,  was  informed  of  all  the  de 
tails  of  the  affair,  so  far  as  known  to  Tom  or 
the  "  Traveler,"  —  for  thus  the  mountaineers 
designated  him,  as  if  he  were  the  only  one  in 
the  world. 

By  reason  of  the  message  which  Jim  had 
delivered,  and  its  strange  result,  they  sus 
pected  the  Coggins,  and  as  they  rode  together 
to  the  justice's  house  for  a  warrant,  this  sus 
picion  received  unexpected  confirmation  in  a 
rumor  that  they  found  afloat.  Every  man 
they  met  stopped  them  to  repeat  the  story  that 
Coggin's  boy  had  told  somebody  that  it  was 
his  father  who  had  robbed  the  traveler,  and 
hid  the  empty  pocket-book  in  the  chinking  of 
the  church  wall.  No  one  knew  who  had  set 
this  report  in  circulation,  but  a  blacksmith 
said  he  heard  it  first  from  a  man  named  Brier- 
wood,  who  had  stopped  at  his  shop  to  have 
his  horse  shod. 


IN  THE  "CHINKING"  223 

It  was  still  early  when  they  reached  Jim 
Coggin's  home ;  the  windows  and  doors  were 
open  to  let  out  the  dust,  for  his  mother  was 
just  beginning  to  sweep.  She  had  pushed 
aside  the  table,  when  her  eyes  suddenly  dis 
tended  with  surprise  as  they  fell  upon  a  silk 
handkerchief  lying  on  the  floor  beside  it. 
The  moment  that  she  stooped  and  picked  it 
up,  the  strange  gentleman  stepped  upon  the 
porch,  and  through  the  open  door  he  saw  it 
dangling  from  her  hands. 

He  tapped  the  constable  on  the  shoulder. 

"That 's  my  property  !  "  he  said  tersely. 

The  officer  stepped  in  instantly.  "  Good- 
mornin',  Mrs.  Coggin,"  he  said  politely. 
"  'T  would  pleasure  me  some  ter  git  a  glimpse 
o'  that  handkercher." 

"  Air  it  your'n  ?  "  asked  the  woman  wonder- 
ingly.  "  I  jes'  now  fund  it,  an'  I  war  tried 
ter  know  who  had  drapped  it  hyar." 

The  officer,  without  a  word,  untied  the  knot 
which  Amos  Brierwood  had  made  in  one 
corner,  while  the  Coggins  looked  on  in  open- 
mouthed  amazement.  It  contained  a  five- 


224  IN  THE  "CHINKING" 

dollar  bill,  and  a  bit  of  paper  on  which  some 
careless  memoranda  had  been  jotted  down  in 
handwriting  which  the  traveler  claimed  as 
his  own. 

It  seemed  a  very  plain  case.  Still,  he  got 
out  of  the  sound  of  the  woman's  sobs  and 
cries  as  soon  as  he  conveniently  could,  and 
sauntered  down  the  road,  where  the  officer 
presently  overtook  him  with  Alf  and  his 
father  in  custody. 

"  Whar  be  ye  a-takin'  of  us  now  ?  "  cried 
the  elder,  gaunt  and  haggard,  and  with  his 
long  hair  blowing  in  the  breeze. 

"  Ter  the  church-house,  whar  yer  boy  says 
ye  hev  hid  the  traveler's  money-purse,"  said 
the  officer. 

"  My  ~boy  !  "  exclaimed  John  Coggin,  cast 
ing  an  astounded  glance  upon  his  son. 

Poor  Alf  was  almost  stunned.  When  they 
reached  the  church,  and  the  men,  after  search 
ing  for  a  time  without  result,  appealed  to  him 
to  save  trouble  by  pointing  out  the  spot  where 
the  pocket-book  was  concealed,  he  could  only 
stammer  and  falter  unintelligibly,  and  finally 
he  burst  into  tears. 


IN  THE  "  CHINKING  "  225 

"  Ax  the  t'other  one  —  the  leetle  boy/' 
suggested  an  old  man  in  the  crowd. 

Alf  's  heart  sank  —  sank  like  lead  —  when 
Jim,  suddenly  remembering  the  promised 
"  good  word  "  to  the  witches,  piped  out,  "  I 
war  tole  not  ter  tell  who  teched  it,  —  'kase 
my  dad  did  n't  want  nobody  ter  know  't  war 
hid  thar." 

John  Coggin's  face  was  rigid  and  gray. 

"  The  Lord  hev  forsook  me  ! "  he  cried. 
"An'  all  my  chillen  hev  turned  liars  ter- 
gether." 

Then  he  made  a  great  effort  to  control 
himself. 

"  Look-a-hyar,  Jim,  ef  ye  hev  got  the  truth 
in  ye,  —  speak  it !  Ef  ye  know  whar  I  hev 
hid  anything,  —  find  it !  " 

Jim,  infinitely  important,  and  really  under 
standing  little  of  what  was  going  on,  except 
that  all  these  big  men  were  looking  at  him, 
crossed  the  room  with  as  much  stateliness  as 
is  compatible  with  a  pair  of  baggy  brown 
jeans  trousers,  a  plaid  comforter  tied  between 
the  shoulder-blades  in  a  big  knot,  a  tow-head, 


226  IN  THE  "  CHINKING  " 

and  a  tattered  black  hat ;  he  slipped  his  grimy 
paw  in  the  chinking  where  Amos  Brierwood 
had  hid  the  pocket-book,  and  drew  it  thence, 
with  the  pridef ul  exclamation,  — 

"  B'longs  ter  my  dad  !  " 

The  officer  held  it  up  empty  before  the 
traveler,  —  he  held  up,  too,  the  bit  of  com 
forter  in  which  it  was  folded,  and  pointed  to 
the  small  boy's  shoulders.  The  gentleman 
turned  away,  thoroughly  convinced.  Alf  and 
his  father  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  in 
mute  despair.  They  foresaw  many  years  of 
imprisonment  for  a  crime  which  they  had  not 
committed. 

The  constable  was  hurrying  his  prisoners 
toward  the  door,  when  there  was  a  sudden 
stir  on  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd.  Old  Parson 
Payne  was  pushing  his  way  in,  followed  by 
a  tall  young  man,  who,  in  comparison  with 
the  mountaineers,  seemed  wonderfully  pros 
perous  and  well-clad,  and  very  fresh  and 
breezy. 

"  You  're  all  on  the  wrong  track ! "  he 
cried. 


IN  THE  "  CHINKING  "  227 

And  his  story  proved  this,  though  it  was 
simple  enough. 

He  was  sojourning  in  the  mountains  with 
some  friends  on  a  "camp-hunt/'  and  the  pre 
vious  evening  he  had  chanced  to  lose  his  way 
in  the  woods.  When  night  and  the  storm 
came  on,  he  was  perhaps  five  miles  from 
camp.  He  mistook  the  little  "  church-house  " 
for  a  dwelling,  and  dismounting,  he  hitched 
his  horse  in  the  laurel,  intending  to  ask  for 
shelter  for  the  night.  As  he  stepped  upon  the 
porch,  however,  he  caught  a  glimpse,  through 
the  chinking,  of  the  interior,  and  he  perceived 
that  the  building  was  a  church.  There  were 
benches  and  a  rude  pulpit.  The  next  instant, 
his  attention  was  riveted  by  the  sight  of  two 
men,  one  of  whom  had  drawn  a  knife  upon 
the  other,  quarreling  over  a  roll  of  money. 
He  stood  rooted  to  the  spot  in  surprise. 
Gradually,  he  began  to  understand  the  villainy 
afoot,  for  he  overheard  all  that  they  said  to 
each  other,  and  afterward  to  Jim.  He  saw 
one  of  the  men  cut  the  bit  from  the  com 
forter,  wrap  the  pocket-book  in  it,  and  hide 


228  IN  THE  «  CHINKING  " 

it  away,  and  he  witnessed  a  dispute  between 
them,  which  went  on  in  dumb  show  behind 
the  boy's  back,  as  to  which  of  two  bills  should 
be  knotted  in  the  handkerchief  which  they 
twisted  into  the  comforter. 

The  constable  was  pressing  him  to  describe 
the  appearance  of  the  ruffians. 

"  Why,"  said  the  stranger,  "  one  of  them 
was  long,  and  lank,  and  loose-jointed,  and 
had  sandy  hair,  and  "  —  He  paused  abruptly, 
cudgeling  his  memory  for  something  more 
distinctive,  for  this  description  would  apply  to 
half  the  men  in  the  room,  and  thus  it  would 
be  impossible  to  identify  and  capture  the 
robbers. 

"  He  bed  n't  no  thumb  sca'cely  on  his  lef ' 
hand,"  piped  out  Jim,  holding  up  his  own 
grimy  paw,  and  looking  at  it  with  squinting 
intensity  as  he  crooked  it  at  the  first  joint,  to 
imitate  the  maimed  hand. 

"  No  thumb  !  "  exclaimed  the  constable  ex 
citedly.  "  Amos  Brierwood  fur  a  thousand !  " 

Jim  nodded  his  head  intelligently,  with 
sudden  recollection.  "  That  air  the  name  ez 


IN  THE  "  CHINKING  "  229 

the  chunky  man  gin  him  when  they  fust 
kem  in." 

And  thus  it  was  that  when  the  Coggins 
were  presently  brought  before  the  justice,  they 
were  exonerated  of  all  complicity  in  the  crime 
for  which  Brierwood  and  his  accomplice  were 
afterward  arrested,  tried,  and  sentenced  to  the 
State  Prison. 

Jim  doubts  whether  the  promised  "good 
word  "  was  ever  spoken  on  his  behalf  to  the 
witches,  who  were  represented  as  making  per 
sonal  inquiries  about  him,  because  he  suspects 
that  the  two  robbers  were  themselves  the  only 
evil  spirits  roaming  the  woods  that  night. 


ON  A  HIGHER  LEVEL 

As  Jack  Dunn  stood  in  the  door  of  his 
home  on  a  great  crag  of  Persimmon  Ridge 
and  loaded  his  old  rifle,  his  eyes  rested  upon 
a  vast  and  imposing  array  of  mountains  fill 
ing  the  landscape.  All  are  heavily  wooded, 
all  are  alike,  save  that  in  one  the  long  hori 
zontal  line  of  the  summit  is  broken  by  a 
sudden  vertical  ascent,  and  thence  the  moun 
tain  seems  to  take  up  life  on  a  higher  level, 
for  it  sinks  no  more  and  passes  out  of  sight. 

This  abrupt  rise  is  called  "  Elijah's  Step," 
—  named,  perhaps,  in  honor  of  some  neigh 
boring  farmer  who  first  explored  it ;  but  the 
ignorant  boy  believed  that  here  the  prophet 
had  stepped  into  his  waiting  fiery  chariot. 

He  knew  of  no  foreign  lands,  —  no  Syria, 
no  Palestine.  He  had  no  dream  of  the 
world  that  lay  beyond  those  misty,  azure  hills. 
Indistinctly  he  had  caught  the  old  story  from 


ON  A  HIGHER  LEVEL  231 

the  nasal  drawl  of  the  circuit-rider,  and  he 
thought  that  here,  among  these  wild  Ten 
nessee  mountains,  Elijah  had  lived  and  had 
not  died. 

There  came  suddenly  from  the  valley  the 
baying  of  a  pack  of  hounds  in  full  cry,  and 
when  the  crags  caught  the  sound  and  tossed 
it  from  mountain  to  mountain,  when  more 
delicate  echoes  on  a  higher  key  rang  out  from 
the  deep  ravines,  there  was  a  wonderful  ex 
hilaration  in  this  sylvan  minstrelsy.  The 
young  fellow  looked  wistful  as  he  heard  it, 
then  he  frowned  heavily. 

"  Them  thar  Saunders  men  hev  gone  off 
an'  left  me,"  he  said  reproachfully  to  some 
one  within  the  log  cabin.  "  Hyar  I  be  kept 
a-choppin'  wood  an'  a  pullin'  fodder  till  they 
hev  hed  time  ter  git  up  a  deer.  It  'pears  ter 
me  ez  I  mought  hev  been  let  ter  put  off  that 
thar  work  till  I  war  through  huntinV 

He  was  a  tall  young  fellow,  with  a  frank, 
freckled  face  and  auburn  hair ;  stalwart,  too. 
Judging  from  his  appearance,  he  could  chop 
wood  and  pull  fodder  to  some  purpose. 


232  ON  A  HIGHER  LEVEL 

A  heavy,  middle-aged  man  emerged  from 
the  house,  and  stood  regarding  his  son  with 
grim  disfavor.  "  An'  who  oughter  chop  wood 
an'  pull  fodder  but  ye,  while  my  hand  air 
sprained  this  way  ?  "  he  demanded. 

That  hand  had  been  sprained  for  many  a 
long  day,  but  the  boy  made  no  reply ;  per 
haps  he  knew  its  weight.  He  walked  to  the 
verge  of  the  cliff,  and  gazed  down  at  the  tops 
of  the  trees  in  the  valley  far,  far  below. 

The  expanse  of  foliage  was  surging  in  the 
wind  like  the  waves  of  the  sea.  From  the  un 
seen  depths  beneath  there  rose  again  the  cry 
of  the  pack,  inexpressibly  stirring,  and  replete 
with  woodland  suggestions.  All  the  echoes 
came  out  to  meet  it. 

"  I  war  promised  ter  go ! "  cried  Jack 
bitterly. 

"  Waal,"  said  his  mother,  from  within  the 
house,  "  't  ain't  no  good  nohow." 

Her  voice  was  calculated  to  throw  oil  upon 
the  troubled  waters,  —  low,  languid,  and  full 
of  pacifying  intonations.  She  was  a  tall,  thin 
woman,  clad  in  a  blue-checked  homespun  dress, 


ON  A  HIGHER  LEVEL  233 

and  seated  before  a  great  hand-loom,  as  a  lady 
sits  before  a  piano  or  an  organ.  The  creak 
of  the  treadle,  and  the  thump,  thump  of  the 
batten,  punctuated,  as  it  were,  her  consolatory 
disquisition. 

Her  son  looked  at  her  in  great  depression 
of  spirit  as  she  threw  the  shuttle  back  and 
forth  with  deft,  practiced  hands. 

"  Wild  meat  air  a  mighty  savin',"  she  con 
tinued,  with  a  housewifely  afterthought.  "  I 
ain't  denyin'  that." 

Thump,  thump,  went  the  batten. 

"  But  ye  need  n't  pester  the  life  out'n  yer- 
self  'kase  ye  ain't  a-runnin'  the  deer  along  o' 
them  Saunders  men.  It  'pears  like  a  powerful 
waste  o'  time,  when  ye  kin  take  yer  gun  down 
ter  the  river  enny  evenin'  late,  jes'  ez  the  deer 
air  goin'  ter  drink,  an'  shoot  ez  big  a  buck 
ez  ye  hev  got  the  grit  ter  git  enny  other  way. 
Ye  can't  do  nothin'  with  a  buck  but  eat  him, 
an'  a-runnin'  him  all  around  the  mounting 
don't  make  him  no  tenderer,  ter  my  mind.  I 
don't  see  no  sense  in  huntin'  'cept  ter  git 
somethin'  fitten  ter  eat." 


234  ON  A  HIGHER  LEVEL 

This  logic,  enough  to  break  a  sportsman's 
heart,  was  not  a  panacea  for  the  tedium  of 
the  day,  spent  in  the  tame  occupation  of  pull 
ing  fodder,  as  the  process  of  stripping  the 
blades  from  the  standing  cornstalks  is  called. 

But  when  the  shadows  were  growing  long, 
Jack  took  his  rifle  and  set  out  for  the  profit 
and  the  pleasure  of  still-hunting.  As  he  made 
his  way  through  the  dense  woods,  the  metallic 
tones  of  a  cow-bell  jangled  on  the  air,  —  me 
lodious  sound  in  the  forest  quiet,  but  it  con 
jured  up  a  scowl  on  the  face  of  the  young 
mountaineer. 

"  Everything  on  this  hyar  mounting  hev  got 
the  twistin's  ter-day  !  "  he  exclaimed  wrath- 
f ully.  "  Hyar  is  our  old  red  cow  a-traips- 
ing  off  ter  Andy  Bailey's  house,  an'  thar  won't 
be  a  drap  of  milk  for  supper." 

This  was  a  serious  matter,  for  in  a  region 
where  coffee  and  tea  are  almost  unknown 
luxuries,  and  the  evening  meal  consists  of 
such  thirst-provoking  articles  as  broiled  veni 
son,  corn-dodgers,  and  sorghum,  one  is  apt 
to  feel  the  need  of  some  liquid  milder  than 


ON  A  HIGHER  LEVEL  235 

"  apple-jack,"  and  more  toothsome  than  water, 
wherewith  to  wet  one's  whistle. 

In  common  with  everything  else  on  the 
mountain,  Jack,  too,  had  the  "twistin's,"  and 
it  was  with  a  sour  face  that  he  began  to  drive 
the  cow  homeward.  After  going  some  dis 
tance,  however,  he  persuaded  himself  that  she 
would  leave  the  beaten  track  no  more  until 
she  reached  the  cabin.  He  turned  about, 
therefore,  and  retraced  his  way  to  the  stream. 

There  had  been  heavy  rains  in  the  moun 
tains,  and  it  was  far  out  of  its  banks,  rushing 
and  foaming  over  great  rocks,  circling  in 
swift  whirlpools,  plunging  in  smooth,  glassy 
sheets  down  sudden  descents,  and  maddening 
thence  in  tumultuous,  yeasty  biUows. 

An  old  mill,  long  disused  and  fallen  into 
decay,  stood  upon  the  brink.  It  was  a  pain 
ful  suggestion  of  collapsed  energies,  despite 
its  picturesque  drapery  of  vines.  No  human 
being  could  live  there,  but  in  the  doorway 
abruptly  appeared  a  boy  of  seventeen,  dressed, 
like  Jack,  in  an  old  brown  jeans  suit  and  a 
shapeless  white  hat. 


236  ON  A  HIGHER  LEVEL 

Jack  paused  at  a  little  distance  up  on  the 
hill,  and  parleyed  in  a  stentorian  voice  with 
the  boy  in  the  mill. 

"  What 's  the  reason  ye  air  always  tryin' 
ter  toll  off  our  old  red  muley  from  our 
house  ?  "  he  demanded  angrily. 

"  I  ain't  never  tried  ter  toll  her  off/'  said 
Andy  Bailey.  "  She  jes'  kem  ter  our  house 
herself.  I  dunno  ez  I  hev  got  enny  call  ter 
look  arter  other  folkses'  stray  cattle.  Mind 
yer  own  cow." 

"  I  hev  got  a  mighty  notion  ter  cut  down 
that  thar  sapling,"  —  and  Jack  pointed  to  a 
good-sized  hickory-tree,  —  "  an'  wear  it  out 
on  ye." 

"  I  ain't  afeard.  Come  on  !  "  said  Andy 
impudently,  protected  by  his  innocence,  and 
the  fact  of  being  the  smaller  of  the  two. 

There  was  a  pause.  "  Hev  ye  been  a-hunt- 
in'  ?  "  asked  Jack,  beginning  to  be  mollified 
by  the  rare  luxury  of  youthful  and  congenial 
companionship  ;  for  this  was  a  scantily  settled 
region,  and  boys  were  few. 

Andy  nodded  assent. 


ON  A  HIGHER  LEVEL  237 

Jack  walked  down  into  the  rickety  mill,  and 
stood  leaning  against  the  rotten  old  hopper. 
"  What  did  ye  git  ?  "  he  said,  looking  about 
for  the  game. 

"  Waal/'  drawled  Andy,  with  much  hesita 
tion,  "  I  hain't  been  started  out  long."  He 
turned  from  the  door  and  faced  his  companion 
rather  sheepishly. 

"I  hopes  ye  ain't  been  poppin'  off  that 
rifle  o'  your'n  along  that  deer-path  down  in 
the  hollow,  an'  a-skeerin'  off  all  the  wild  crit 
ters,"  said  Jack  Dunn,  with  sudden  apprehen 
sion.  "  Ef  I  war  ez  pore  a  shot  ez  ye  air, 
I  'd  go  a-huntin'  with  a  bean-pole  instead  of 
a  gun,  an'  leave  the  game  ter  them  that  kin 
shoot  it." 

Andy  was  of  a  mercurial  and  nervous  tem 
perament,  and  this  fact  perhaps  may  account 
for  the  anomaly  of  a  mountain-boy  who  was 
a  poor  shot.  Andy  was  the  scoff  of  Persim 
mon  Kidge. 

"  I  hev  seen  many  a  gal  who  could  shoot 
ez  well  ez  ye  kin,  —  better,"  continued  Jack 
jeeringly.  "  But  law  !  I  need  n't  kerry  my 


238  ON  A  HIGHER  LEVEL 

heavy  bones  down  thar  in  the  hollow  expectin' 
ter  git  a  deer  ter-day.  They  air  all  off  in 
the  woods  a-smellin'  the  powder  ye  hev  been 
wastinV 

Andy  was  pleased  to  change  the  subject. 
"  It  'pears  ter  me  that  that  thar  water  air 
a-scuttlin'  along  toler'ble  fast/'  he  said,  turn 
ing  his  eyes  to  the  little  window  through 
which  the  stream  could  be  seen. 

It  was  running  fast,  and  with  a  tremendous 
force.  One  could  obtain  some  idea  of  the 
speed  and  impetus  of  the  current  from  the 
swift  vehemence  with  which  logs  and  branches 
shot  past,  half  hidden  in  foam. 

The  water  looked  black  with  this  white  con 
trast.  Here  and  there  a  great,  grim  rock 
projected  sharply  above  the  surface.  In  the 
normal  condition  of  the  stream,  these  were  its 
overhanging  banks,  but  now,  submerged,  they 
gave  to  its  flow  the  character  of  rapids. 

The  old  mill,  its  wooden  supports  submerged 
too,  trembled  and  throbbed  with  the  throb 
bing  water.  As  Jack  looked  toward  the  win 
dow,  his  eyes  were  suddenly  distended,  his 


ON  A  HIGHER  LEVEL  239 

cheek  paled,  and  he  sprang  to  the  door  with  a 
frightened  exclamation. 

Too  late  !  the  immense  bole  of  a  fallen 
tree,  shooting  down  the  channel  with  the 
force  and  velocity  of  a  great  projectile,  struck 
the  tottering  supports  of  the  crazy,  rotting 
building. 

It  careened,  and  quivered  in  every  fibre ; 
there  was  a  crash  of  falling  timbers,  then  a 
mighty  wrench,  and  the  two  boys,  clinging 
to  the  window-frame,  were  driving  with  the 
wreck  down  the  river. 

The  old  mill  thundered  against  the  sub 
merged  rocks,  and  at  every  concussion  the 
timbers  fell.  It  whirled  around  and  around 
in  eddying  pools.  Where  the  water  was 
clear,  and  smooth,  and  deep,  it  shot  along 
with  great  rapidity. 

The  convulsively  clinging  boys  looked  down 
upon  the  black  current,  with  its  sharp,  treach 
erous,  half-seen  rocks  and  ponderous  drift 
wood.  The  wild  idea  of  plunging  into  the 
tumult  and  trying  to  swim  to  the  bank  faded 
as  they  looked.  Here  in  the  crazy  building 


240  ON  A  HIGHER  LEVEL 

there  might  he  a  chance.  In  that  frightful 
swirl  there  lurked  only  a  grim  certainty. 

The  house  had  swung  along  in  the  middle 
of  the  stream ;  now  its  course  was  veering 
slightly  to  the  left.  This  could  he  seen 
through  the  window  and  the  interstices  of  the 
half-fallen  timbers. 

The  boys  were  caged,  as  it  were  ;  the  door 
way  was  filled  with  the  heavy  debris,  and  the 
only  possibility  of  escape  was  through  that 
little  window.  It  was  so  small  that  only  one 
could  pass  through  at  a  time,  —  only  one 
could  be  saved. 

Jack  had  seen  the  chance  from  far  up  the 
stream.  There  was  a  stretch  of  smooth  water 
close  in  to  the  bank,  on  which  was  a  low- 
hanging  beech-tree,  —  he  might  catch  the 
branches. 

They  were  approaching  the  spot  with  great 
rapidity.  Only  one  could  go.  He  himself 
had  discovered  the  opportunity,  —  it  was  his 
own. 

Life  was  sweet,  —  so  sweet !  He  could  not 
give  it  up ;  he  could  not  now  take  thought 


ON  A  HIGHER  LEVEL  241 

for  his  friend.  He  could  only  hope  with  a 
frenzied  eagerness  that  Andy  had  not  seen 
the  possibility  of  deliverance. 

In  another  moment  Andy  lifted  himself 
into  the  window.  A  whirlpool  caught  the 
wreck,  and  there  it  eddied  in  dizzying  circles. 
It  was  not  yet  too  late.  Jack  could  tear  the 
smaller,  weaker  fellow  away  with  one  strong 
hand,  and  take  the  only  chance  for  escape. 
The  shattered  mill  was  dashing  through  the 
smoother  waters  now ;  the  great  beech-tree  was 
hanging  over  their  heads ;  an  inexplicable, 
overpowering  impulse  mastered  in  an  instant 
Jack's  temptation. 

"  Ketch  the  branches,  Andy ! "  he  cried 
wildly. 

His  friend  was  gone,  and  he  was  whirling 
off  alone  on  those  cruel,  frantic  waters.  In 
the  midst  of  the  torrent  he  was  going  down, 
and  down,  and  down  the  mountain. 

Now  and  then  he  had  a  fleeting  glimpse 
of  the  distant  ranges.  There  was  "  Elijah's 
Step,"  glorified  in  the  sunset,  purple  and 
splendid,  with  red  and  gold  clouds  flaming 


242  ON  A  HIGHER  LEVEL 

above  it.  To  his  untutored  imagination  they 
looked  like  the  fiery  chariot  again  awaiting 
the  prophet. 

The  f amiliar  sight,  the  familiar,  oft-repeated 
fancy,  the  recollection  of  his  home,  brought 
sudden  tears  to  his  eyes.  He  gazed  wistfully 
at  the  spot  whence  he  believed  the  man  had 
ascended  who  left  death  untasted,  and  then 
he  went  on  in  this  mad  rush  down  to  the 
bitterness  of  death. 

Even  with  this  terrible  fact  before  him, 
he  did  not  reproach  himself  with  his  costly 
generosity.  It  was  strange  to  him  that  he 
did  not  regret  it;  perhaps,  like  that  moun 
tain,  he  had  suddenly  taken  up  life  on  a 
higher  level. 

The  sunset  splendor  was  fading.  The  fiery 
chariot  was  gone,  and  in  its  place  were  float 
ing  gray  clouds,  —  the  dust  of  its  wheels, 
they  seemed.  The  outlines  of  "  Elijah's 
Step "  were  dark.  It  looked  sad,  bereaved. 
Its  glory  had  departed. 

Suddenly  the  whole  landscape  seemed  full 
of  reeling  black  shadows,  —  and  yet  it  was 


IN    THE    MIDST   OF    THE   TORRENT 


ON  A  HIGHER  LEVEL  243 

not  night.  The  roar  of  the  torrent  was  grow 
ing  faint  upon  his  ear,  and  yet  its  momentum 
was  unchecked.  Soon  all  was  dark  and  all 
was  still,  and  the  world  slipped  from  his 
grasp. 

"  They  tell  me  that  thar  Jack  Dunn  war 
mighty  nigh  drownded  when  them  men  fished 
him  out'n  the  pond  at  Skeggs's  sawmill  down 
thar  in  the  valley/'  said  Andy  Bailey,  recount 
ing  the  incident  to  the  fireside  circle  at  his 
own  home.  "  They  seen  them  rotten  old  tim 
bers  come  a-floatin'  ez  peaceable  on  to  the 
pond,  an'  then  they  seen  somethin'  like  a 
human  a-hangin'  ter  'em.  The  water  air  ez 
still  ez  a  floor  thar,  an'  deep  an'  smooth,  an' 
they  didn't  hev  no  trouble  in  swimmin'  out 
to  him.  They  could  n't  bring  him  to,  though, 
at  fust.  They  said  in  a  little  more  he  would 
hev  been  gone  sure!  Now"  —  pridefully  — 
"  ef  he  hed  hed  the  grit  ter  ketch  a  tree  an' 
pull  out,  like  I  done,  he  would  n't  hev  been 
in  sech  a  danger." 

Andy  never  knew  the  sacrifice  his  friend 
had  made.  Jack  never  told  him.  Applause 


244  ON  A  HIGHER  LEVEL 

is  at  best  a  slight  thing.  A  great  action  is 
nobler  than  the  monument  that  commemorates 
it ;  and  when  a  man  gives  himself  into  the 
control  of  a  generous  impulse,  thenceforward 
he  takes  up  life  on  a  higher  level. 


CHRISTMAS  DAY   ON   OLD   WINDY 
MOUNTAIN 

THE  sun  had  barely  shown  the  rim  of  his 
great  red  disk  above  the  sombre  woods  and 
snow-crowned  crags  of  the  opposite  ridge, 
when  Kick  Herne,  his  rifle  in  his  hand, 
stepped  out  of  his  father's  log  cabin,  perched 
high  among  the  precipices  of  Old  Windy 
Mountain.  He  waited  motionless  for  a  mo 
ment,  and  all  the  family  trooped  to  the  door 
to  assist  at  the  time-honored  ceremony  of 
firing  a  salute  to  the  day. 

Suddenly  the  whole  landscape  catches  a 
rosy  glow,  Rick  whips  up  his  rifle,  a  jet  of 
flame  darts  swiftly  out,  a  sharp  report  rings 
all  around  the  world,  and  the  sun  goes 
grandly  up  —  while  the  little  tow -headed 
mountaineers  hurrah  shrilly  for  "  Chris'mus !  " 

As  he  began  to  re-load  his  gun,  the  small 
boys  clustered  around  him,  their  hands  in 


246  CHRISTMAS  ON  OLD  WINDY  MOUNTAIN 

the  pockets  of  their  baggy  jeans  trousers, 
their  heads  inquiringly  askew. 

"  They  air  a-goin'  ter  hev  a  pea-foweZ  fur 
dinner  down  yander  ter  Birk's  Mill/'  Rick 
remarked. 

The  smallest  boy  smacked  his  lips,  —  not 
that  he  knew  how  pea-fowl  tastes,  but  he  im 
agined  unutterable  things. 

"  Somehows  I  hates  fur  ye  ter  go  ter  eat  at 
Birk's  Mill,  they  air  sech  a  set  o'  drinkin' 
men  down  thar  ter  Malviny's  house,"  said 
Rick's  mother,  as  she  stood  in  the  doorway, 
and  looked  anxiously  at  him. 

For  his  elder  sister  was  Birk's  wife,  and  to 
this  great  feast  he  was  invited  as  a  represen 
tative  of  the  family,  his  father  being  disa 
bled  by  "  rheumatics,"  and  his  mother  kept 
at  home  by  the  necessity  of  providing  dinner 
for  those  four  small  boys. 

"  Hain't  I  done  promised  ye  not  ter  tech 
a  drap  o'  liquor  this  Chris'mus  day  ?  "  asked 
Rick. 

"That's  a  fac',"  his  mother  admitted. 
"  But  boys,  an'  men-folks  ginerally,  air  scan- 


CHRISTMAS  ON  OLD  WINDY  MOUNTAIN  247 

dalous  easy  ter  break  a  promise  whar  whiskey 
is  in  it." 

"  I  '11  hev  ye  ter  know  that  when  I  gin  my 
word,  I  keeps  it !  "  cried  Rick  pridef  ully. 

He  little  dreamed  how  that  promise  was  to 
be  assailed  before  the  sun  should  go  down. 

He  was  a  tall,  sinewy  boy,  deft  of  foot  as 
all  these  mountaineers  are,  and  a  seven-mile 
walk  in  the  snow  to  Birk's  Mill  he  considered 
a  mere  trifle.  He  tramped  along  cheerily 
enough  through  the  silent  solitudes  of  the 
dense  forest.  Only  at  long  intervals  the  still 
ness  was  broken  by  the  cracking  of  a  bough 
under  the  weight  of  snow,  or  the  whistling 
of  a  gust  of  wind  through  the  narrow  valley 
far  below. 

All  at  once — it  was  a  terrible  shock  of 
surprise  —  he  was  sinking!  Was  there  no 
thing  beneath  his  feet  but  the  vague  depths 
of  air  to  the  base  of  the  mountain  ?  He 
realized  with  a  quiver  of  dismay  that  he  had 
mistaken  a  huge  drift-filled  fissure,  between 
a  jutting  crag  and  the  wall  of  the  ridge,  for 
the  solid,  snow-covered  ground.  He  tossed 


248  CHRISTMAS  ON  OLD  WINDY  MOUNTAIN 

his  arms  about  wildly  in  his  effort  to  grasp 
something  firm.  The  motion  only  dislodged 
the  drift.  He  felt  that  it  was  falling,  and 
he  was  going  down  —  down  —  down  with  it. 
He  saw  the  trees  on  the  summit  of  Old  Windy 
disappear.  He  caught  one  glimpse  of  the 
neighboring  ridges.  Then  he  was  blinded 
and  enveloped  in  this  cruel  whiteness.  He 
had  a  wild  idea  that  he  had  been  delivered 
to  it  forever ;  even  in  the  first  thaw  it  would 
curl  up  into  a  wreath  of  vapor,  and  rise  from 
the  mountain's  side,  and  take  him  soaring 
with  it  —  whither  ?  How  they  would  search 
these  bleak  wintry  fastnesses  for  him,  —  while 
he  was  gone  sailing  with  the  mist!  What 
would  they  say  at  home  and  at  Birk's  Mill  ? 
One  last  thought  of  the  "  pea-fowe/,"  and  he 
seemed  to  slide  swiftly  away  from  the  world 
with  the  snow. 

He  was  unconscious  probably  only  for  a 
few  minutes.  When  he  came  to  himself,  he 
found  that  he  was  lying,  half -submerged  in 
the  great  drift,  on  the  slope  of  the  mountain, 
and  the  dark,  icicle-begirt  cliff  towered  high 


CHRISTMAS  ON  OLD  WINDY  MOUNTAIN  249 

above.  He  stretched  his  limbs  —  no  bones 
broken !  He  could  hardly  believe  that  he 
had  fallen  unhurt  from  those  heights.  He 
did  not  appreciate  how  gradually  the  snow 
had  slidden  down.  Being  so  densely  packed, 
too,  it  had  buoyed  him  up,  and  kept  him 
from  dashing  against  the  sharp,  jagged  edges 
of  the  rock.  He  had  lost  consciousness  in 
the  jar  when  the  moving  mass  was  abruptly 
arrested  by  a  transverse  elevation  of  the 
ground.  He  was  still  a  little  dizzy  and  faint, 
but  otherwise  uninjured. 

Now  a  great  perplexity  took  hold  on  him. 
How  was  he  to  make  his  way  back  up  the 
mountain,  he  asked  himself,  as  he  looked  at 
the  inaccessible  cliffs  looming  high  into  the 
air.  All  the  world  around  him  was  unfa 
miliar.  Even  his  wide  wanderings  had  never 
brought  him  into  this  vast,  snowy,  trackless 
wilderness,  that  stretched  out  on  every  side. 
He  would  be  half  the  day  in  finding  the 
valley  road  that  led  to  Birk's  Mill.  He  rose 
to  his  feet,  and  gazed  about  him  in  painful 
indecision.  The  next  moment  a  thrill  shot 


250    CHRISTMAS  ON  OLD  WINDY  MOUNTAIN 

through  him,  to  which  he  was  unaccustomed. 
He  had  never  before  shaken  except  with  the 
cold,  —  but  this  was  fear. 

For  he  heard  voices  !  Not  from  the  cliffs 
above,  —  but  from  below  !  Not  from  the 
dense  growth  of  young  pines  on  the  slope  of 
the  mountain,  —  but  from  the  depths  of  the 
earth  beneath  !  He  stood  motionless,  listen 
ing  intently,  his  eyes  distended,  and  his  heart 
beating  fast. 

All  silence  !  Not  even  the  wind  stirred  in 
the  pine  thicket.  The  snow  lay  heavy  among 
the  dark  green  branches,  and  every  slender 
needle  was  encased  in  ice.  Kick  rubbed  his 
eyes.  It  was  no  dream.  There  was  the 
thicket ;  but  whose  were  the  voices  that  had 
rung  out  faintly  from  beneath  it  ? 

A  crowd  of  superstitions  surged  upon  him. 
He  cast  an  affrighted  glance  at  the  ghastly 
snow-covered  woods  and  sheeted  earth.  He 
was  remembering  fireside  legends,  horrible 
enough  to  raise  the  hair  on  a  sophisticated, 
educated  boy's  head;  much  more  horrible, 
then,  to  a  young  backwoodsman  like  Rick. 


CHRISTMAS  ON  OLD  WINDY  MOUNTAIN  251 

On  this,  the  most  benign  day  that  ever  dawns 
upon  the  world,  was  he  led  into  these  end 
less  wastes  of  forest  to  be  terrified  by  the 
"  harnts  "  ? 

Suddenly  those  voices  from  the  earth  again  ! 
One  was  singing  a  drunken  catch,  —  it  broke 
into  falsetto,  and  ended  with  an  unmistakable 
hiccup. 

Kick's  blood  came  back  with  a  rush. 

"  I  hev  never  hearn  tell  o'  the  hoobies 
gittin'  boozy !  "  he  said  with  a  laugh.  "  That 's 
whar  they  hev  got  the  upper-hand  o'  humans." 

As  he  gazed  again  at  the  thicket,  he  saw 
now  something  that  he  had  been  too  much 
agitated  to  observe  before,  —  a  column  of 
dense  smoke  that  rose  from  far  down  the  de 
clivity,  and  seemed  to  make  haste  to  hide 
itself  among  the  low-hanging  boughs  of  a 
clump  of  fir-trees. 

"It's  somebody's  house  down  thar,"  was 
Rick's  conclusion.  "  I  kin  find  out  the  way 
to  Birk's  Mill  from  the  folkses." 

When  he  neared  the  smoke,  he  paused 
abruptly,  staring  once  more. 


252    CHRISTMAS  ON  OLD  WINDY  MOUNTAIN 

There  was  no  house !  The  smoke  rose 
from  among  low  pine  bushes.  Above  were 
the  snow-laden  branches  of  the  fir. 

"  Ef  thar  war  a  house  hyar,  I  reckon  I 
could  see  it ! "  said  Kick  doubtfully,  infi 
nitely  mystified. 

There  was  a  continual  drip,  drip  of  moisture 
all  around.  Yet  a  thaw  had  not  set  in.  Kick 
looked  up  at  the  gigantic  icicles  that  hung  to 
the  crags  and  glittered  in  the  sun,  —  not  a 
drop  trickled  from  them.  But  this  fir-tree 
was  dripping,  dripping,  and  the  snow  had 
melted  away  from  the  nearest  pine  bushes 
that  clustered  about  the  smoke.  There  was 
heat  below  certainly,  a  strong  heat,  and  some 
body  was  keeping  the  fire  up  steadily. 

"  An'  air  it  folkses  ez  live  underground 
like  foxes  an'  sech  ! "  Rick  exclaimed,  aston 
ished,  as  he  came  upon  a  large,  irregularly 
shaped  rift  in  the  rocks,  and  heard  the  same 
reeling  voice  from  within,  beginning  to  sing 
once  more.  But  for  this  bacchanalian  mel 
ody,  the  noise  of  Kick's  entrance  might  have 
given  notice  of  his  approach.  As  it  was,  the 


CHRISTMAS  ON  OLD  WINDY  MOUNTAIN  253 

inhabitants  of  this  strange  place  were  even 
more  surprised  than  he,  when,  after  groping 
through  a  dark,  low  passage,  an  abrupt  turn 
brought  him  into  a  lofty,  vaulted  subterra 
nean  apartment.  There  was  a  great  flare  of 
light,  which  revealed  six  or  seven  muscular 
men  grouped  about  a  large  copper  vessel  built 
into  a  rude  stone  furnace,  and  all  the  air 
was  pervaded  by  an  incomparably  strong  alco 
holic  odor.  The  boy  started  back  with  a  look 
of  terror.  That  pale  terror  was  reflected  on 
each  man's  face,  as  on  a  mirror.  At  the  sight 
of  the  young  stranger  they  all  sprang  up  with 
the  same  gesture,  —  each  instinctively  laid  his 
hand  upon  the  pistol  that  he  wore. 

Poor  Rick  understood  it  all  at  last.  He 
had  stumbled  upon  a  nest  of  distillers,  only 
too  common  among  these  mountains,  who 
were  hiding  from  the  officers  of  the  Govern 
ment,  running  their  still  in  defiance  of  the 
law  and  eluding  the  whiskey-tax.  He  realized 
that  in  discovering  their  stronghold  he  had 
learned  a  secret  that  was  by  no  means  a  safe 
one  for  him  to  know.  And  he  was  in  their 
power ;  at  their  mercy  ! 


254    CHRISTMAS  ON  OLD  WINDY  MOUNTAIN 

"  Don't  shoot !  "  he  faltered.  "  I  jes'  want 
ter  ax  the  f  olkses  ter  tell  me  the  way  ter  Birk's 
Mill." 

What  would  he  have  given  to  be  on  the 
bleak  mountain  outside ! 

One  of  the  men  caught  him  as  if  anticipat 
ing  an  attempt  to  run.  Two  or  three,  after 
a  low-toned  colloquy,  took  their  rifles,  and 
crept  cautiously  outside  to  reconnoitre  the 
situation.  Rick  comprehended  their  suspi 
cion  with  new  quakings.  They  imagined 
that  he  was  a  spy,  and  had  been  sent  among 
them  to  discover  them  plying  their  forbidden 
vocation.  This  threatened  a  long  imprison 
ment  for  them.  His  heart  sank  as  he  thought 
of  it ;  they  would  never  let  him  go. 

After  a  time  the  reconnoitring  party  came 
back. 

"  Nothin'  stirrin',"  said  the  leader  tersely. 

"  I  misdoubts,"  muttered  another,  casting 
a  look  of  deep  suspicion  on  Rick.  "  Thar  air 
men  out  thar,  I  'm  a-thinkin',  hid  somewhar." 

"  They  air  furder  'n  a  mile  off,  ennyhow," 
returned  the  first  speaker.  "We  never  lef 
so  much  ez  a  bush  'thout  sarchin'  of  it." 


CHRISTMAS  ON  OLD  WINDY  MOUNTAIN  255 

"  The  off'cers  can't  find  this  place  no- ways 
'thout  that  thar  chap  fur  a  guide/'  said  a 
third,  with  a  surly  nod  of  his  head  at  Kick. 

"  We  're  safe  enough,  boys,  safe  enough !  " 
cried  a  stout-built,  red-faced,  red-bearded  man, 
evidently  very  drunk,  and  with  a  voice  that 
rose  into  quavering  falsetto  as  he  spoke. 
"  This  chap  can't  do  nothin'.  We  hev  got 
him  bound  hand  an'  foot.  Hyar  air  the 
captive  of  our  bow  an'  spear,  boys  !  Mighty 
little  captive,  though  !  hi !  "  He  tried  to 
point  jeeringly  at  Rick,  and  forgot  what  he 
had  intended  to  do  before  he  could  fairly 
extend  his  hand.  Then  his  rollicking  head 
sank  on  his  breast,  and  he  began  to  sing 
sleepily  again. 

One  of  the  more  sober  of  the  men  had  ex 
tinguished  the  fire  in  order  that  they  should 
not  be  betrayed  by  the  smoke  outside  to  the 
revenue  officers  who  might  be  seeking  them. 
The  place,  chilly  enough  at  best,  was  grow 
ing  bitter  cold.  The  strange  subterranean 
beauty  of  the  surroundings,  the  limestone 
wall  and  arches,  scintillating  wherever  they 


256   CHRISTMAS  ON  OLD  WINDY  MOUNTAIN 

caught  the  light;  the  shadowy,  mysterious 
vaulted  roof  ;  the  white  stalactites  that  hung 
down  thence  to  touch  the  stalagmites  as  they 
rose  up  from  the  floor,  and  formed  with  them 
endless  vistas  of  stately  colonnades,  all  were 
oddly  incongruous  with  the  drunken,  bloated 
faces  of  the  distillers.  Rick  could  not  have 
put  his  thought  into  words,  but  it  seemed  to 
him  that  when  men  had  degraded  themselves 
like  this,  even  inanimate  nature  is  something 
higher  and  nobler.  "  Sermons  in  stones " 
were  not  far  to  seek. 

He  observed  that  they  were  making  prepa 
rations  for  flight,  and  once  more  the  fear  of 
what  they  would  do  with  him  clutched  at  his 
heart.  He  was  something  of  a  problem  to 
them. 

"  This  hyar  cub  will  go  blab,"  was  the  first 
suggestion. 

"  He  will  keep  mum,"  said  the  vocalist, 
glancing  at  the  boy  with  a  jovially  tipsy  com 
bination  of  leer  and  wink.  "  Hyar  is  the  per 
suader  !  "  He  rapped  sharply  on  the  muzzle 
of  his  pistol.  "  This  '11  scotch  his  wheel." 


CHRISTMAS  ON  OLD  WINDY  MOUNTAIN   257 

"  Hold  yer  own  jaw,  ye  drunken  'possum !  " 
retorted  another  of  the  group.  "  Ef  ye  fire 
off  that  pistol  in  hyar,  we'll  hev  all  these 
hyar  rocks  "  —  he  pointed  at  the  walls  and 
the  long  colonnades  —  "answerin'  back  an' 
yelpin'  like  a  pack  o'  hounds  on  a  hot  scent. 
Ef  thar  air  folks  outside,  the  noise  would 
fotch  'em  down  on  us  fur  true !  " 

Eick  breathed  more  freely.  The  rocks 
would  speak  up  for  him !  He  could  not  be 
harmed  with  all  these  tell-tale  witnesses  at 
hand.  So  silent  now,  but  with  a  latent  voice 
strong  enough  for  the  dread  of  it  to  save 
his  lif  e ! 

The  man  who  had  put  out  the  fire,  who  had 
led  the  reconnoitring  party,  who  had  made 
all  the  active  preparations  for  departure,  who 
seemed,  in  short,  to  be  an  executive  committee 
of  one,  —  a  long,  lazy-looking  mountaineer, 
with  a  decision  of  action  in  startling  contrast 
to  his  whole  aspect,  —  now  took  this  matter  in 
hand. 

"Nothin'  easier,"  he  said  tersely.  "Fill 
him  up.  Make  him  ez  drunk  ez  a  fraish 


258    CHRISTMAS  ON  OLD  WINDY  MOUNTAIN 

b'iled  owel.  Then  lead  him  to  the  t'other 
eend  o'  the  cave,  an'  blindfold  him,  an'  lug 
him  off  five  mile  in  the  woods,  an'  leave  him 
thar.  He  '11  never  know  what  he  hev  seen 
nor  done." 

"That's  the  dinctum ! "  cried  the  red- 
bearded  man,  in  delighted  approval,  break 
ing  into  a  wild,  hiccupping  laugh,  inexpres 
sibly  odious  to  the  boy.  Rick  had  an  ex 
treme  loathing  for  them  all  that  showed 
itself  with  impolitic  frankness  upon  his  face. 
He  realized  as  he  had  never  done  before  the 
depths  to  which  strong  drink  will  reduce  men. 
But  that  the  very  rocks  would  cry  out  upon 
them,  they  would  have  murdered  him. 

In  the  preparations  for  departure  all  the 
lights  had  been  extinguished,  except  a  single 
lantern,  and  a  multitude  of  shadows  had 
come  thronging  from  the  deeper  recesses  of 
the  cave.  In  the  faint  glimmer  the  figures 
of  the  men  loomed  up,  indistinct,  gigantic, 
distorted.  They  hardly  seemed  men  at  all  to 
Rick ;  rather  some  evil  underground  creatures, 
neither  beast  nor  human. 


CHRISTMAS  ON  OLD  WINDY  MOUNTAIN   259 

And  he  was  to  be  made  equally  besotted, 
and  even  more  helpless  than  they,  in  order 
that  his  senses  might  be  sapped  away,  and  he 
should  remember  no  story  to  tell.  Perhaps 
if  he  had  not  had  before  him  so  vivid  an 
illustration  of  the  malign  power  that  swayed 
them,  he  might  not  have  experienced  so 
strong  an  aversion  to  it.  Now,  to  be  made 
like  them  seemed  a  high  price  to  pay  for  his 
life.  And  there  was  his  promise  to  his  mo 
ther  !  As  the  long,  lank,  lazy-looking  moun 
taineer  pressed  the  whiskey  upon  him,  Rick 
dashed  it  aside  with  a  gesture  so  unexpected 
and  vehement  that  the  cracked  jug  fell  to  the 
floor,  and  was  shivered  to  fragments. 

Rick  lifted  an  appealing  face  to  the  man, 
who  seized  him  with  a  strong  grip.  "  I  can't 
—  I  won't,"  the  boy  cried  wildly.  "I  —  I  — 
promised  my  mother  !  " 

He  looked  around  the  circle  deprecatingly. 
He  expected  first  a  guffaw  and  then  a  blow, 
and  he  dreaded  the  ridicule  more  than  the 
pain. 

But  there  were  neither  blows  nor  ridicule. 


260   CHRISTMAS  ON  OLD  WINDY  MOUNTAIN 

They  all  gazed  at  him,  astounded.  Then  a 
change,  which  Eick  hardly  comprehended, 
flitted  across  the  face  of  the  man  who  had 
grasped  him.  The  moonshiner  turned  away 
abruptly,  with  a  bitter  laugh  that  startled  all 
the  echoes. 

"/ — /  promised  my  mother,  too!"  he 
cried.  "  It  air  good  that  in  her  grave  whar 
she  is  she  can't  know  how  I  hev  kep'  my 
word." 

And  then  there  was  a  sudden  silence.  It 
seemed  to  Rick,  strangely  enough,  like  the 
sudden  silence  that  comes  after  prayer.  He 
was  reminded,  as  one  of  the  men  rose  at 
length  and  the  keg  on  which  he  had  been  sit 
ting  creaked  with  the  motion,  of  the  creaking 
benches  in  the  little  mountain  church  when 
the  congregation  started  from  their  knees. 
And  had  some  feeble,  groping  sinner's  prayer 
filled  the  silence  and  the  moral  darkness ! 

The  "  executive  committee  "  promptly  re 
covered  himself.  But  he  made  no  further 
attempt  to  force  the  whiskey  upon  the  boy. 
Under  some  whispered  instructions  which  he 


CHRISTMAS  ON  OLD  WINDY  MOUNTAIN  261 

gave  the  others,  Eick  was  half -led,  half- 
dragged  through  immensely  long  black  halls 
of  the  cave,  while  one  of  the  men  went  before, 
carrying  the  feeble  lantern.  When  the  first 
glimmer  of  daylight  appeared  in  the  distance, 
Rick  understood  that  the  cave  had  an  outlet 
other  than  the  one  by  which  he  had  entered, 
and  evidently  miles  distant  from  it.  Thus  it 
was  that  the  distillers  were  well  enabled  to 
baffle  the  law  that  sought  them. 

They  stopped  here  and  blindfolded  the 
boy.  How  far  and  where  they  dragged  him 
through  the  snowy  mountain  wilderness  out 
side,  Kick  never  knew.  He  was  exhausted 
when  at  length  they  allowed  him  to  pause. 
As  he  heard  their  steps  dying  away  in  the 
distance,  he  tore  the  bandage  from  his  eyes, 
and  found  that  they  had  left  him  in  the  midst 
of  the  wagon  road  to  make  his  way  to  Birk's 
Mill  as  best  he  might.  When  he  reached  it, 
the  wintry  sun  was  low  in  the  western  sky, 
and  the  very  bones  of  the  "  pea-foweZ "  were 
picked. 

On  the  whole,  it  seemed  a  sorry  Christmas 


262  CHRISTMAS  ON  OLD  WINDY  MOUNTAIN 

Day,  as  Rick  could  not  know  then  —  indeed, 
he  never  knew  —  what  good  results  it  brought 
forth.  For  among  those  who  took  the  benefit 
of  the  "  amnesty  "  extended  by  the  Govern 
ment  to  the  moonshiners  of  this  region,  on 
condition  that  they  discontinue  illicit  distilling 
for  the  future,  was  a  certain  long,  lank,  lazy- 
looking  mountaineer,  who  suddenly  became 
sober  and  steady  and  a  law-abiding  citizen. 
He  had  been  reminded,  this  Christmas  Day, 
of  a  broken  promise  to  a  dead  mother,  and 
this  by  the  unflinching  moral  courage  of  a 
mere  boy  in  a  moment  of  mortal  peril.  Such 
wise,  sweet,  uncovenanted  uses  has  duty,  bless 
ing  alike  the  unconscious  exemplar  and  him 
who  profits  by  the  example. 


CAMBRIDGE,  MASSACHUSETTS,  U.  S.  A. 

ELECTROTYPED  AND  PRINTED  BY 

H.  O.  HOUGHTON  AND  CO. 


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RB  12  1934 


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8INTON.U 

JUN  1  2  1993 

-C.  BERKELEY 


LD  2l- 


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